Onion Sauce! Onion Sauce!

In Midmost Of The Stream, Embraced In The Weir's Shimmering Arm-spread, A Small Island Lay Anchored, Fringed Close With Willow And Silver Birch And Alder. Reserved, Shy, But Full Of Significance, It Hid Whatever It Might Hold Behind A Veil, Keeping It Till The Hour Should Come, And, With The Hour, Those Who Were Called And Chosen.

For My Life, I Confess To You, Feels To Me Today Somewhat Narrow And Circumscribed.

Well, Very Long Ago, On The Spot Where The Wild Wood Waves Now, Before Ever It Had Planted Itself And Grown Up To What It Now Is, There Was A City - A City Of People, You Know

He Had Got Down To The Bones Of It, And They Were Fine And Strong And Simple.

It's Not The Sort Of Night For Bed, Anyhow.