Look Thy Last On All Things Lovely,

Tell Them I Came, And No One Answered, That I Kept My Word," He Said. Never The Least Stir Made The Listeners, Though Every Word He Spake Fell Echoing Through The Shadowiness Of The Still House From The One Man Left Awake: Ay, They Heard His Foot Upon The Stirrup, And The Sound Of Iron On Stone, And How The Silence Surged Softly Backward, When The Plunging Hoofs Were Gone.

Three Jolly Huntsmen, In Coats Of Red, Rode Their Horses Up To Bed.

As Long As I Live I Shall Always Be My Self - And No Other, Just Me.

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

Without Imagination Of The One Kind Or Of The Other, Mortal Existence Is Indeed A Dreary And Prosaic Business... Illumined By The Imagination, Our Life, Whatever Its Defeats - Is A Never-ending Unforeseen Strangeness And Adventure And Mystery.