The House Of Delusions Is Cheap To

Clay Lies Still, But Blood's A Rover; Breath's Aware That Will Not Keep. Up, Lad: When The Journey's Over Then There'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

Poems Very Seldom Consist Of Poetry And Nothing Else; And Pleasure Can Be Derived Also From Their Other Ingredients. I Am Convinced That Most Readers, When They Think They Are Admiring Poetry, Are Deceived By Inability To Analyse Their Sensations, And That They Are Really Admiring, Not The Poetry Of The Passage Before Them, But Something Else In It, Which They Like Better Than Poetry.

Stone, Steel, Dominions Pass, Faith Too, No Wonder; So Leave Alone The Grass That I Am Under.

The Troubles Of Our Proud And Angry Dust Are From Eternity, And Shall Not Fail. Bear Them We Can, And If We Can We Must. Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink Your Ale.

Earth And High Heaven Are Fixed Of Old And Founded Strong.