The Wombat Is A Joy, A Triumph,

Beauty Like Hers Is Genius.

I Plucked A Honeysuckle Where The Hedge On High Is Quick With Thorn, And Climbing For The Prize, Was Torn, And Fouled My Feet In Quag-water; And By The Thorns And By The Wind The Blossom That I Took Was Thinn'd, And Yet I Found It Sweet And Fair.

Sudden Light I Have Been Here Before, But When Or How I Cannot Tell: I Know The Grass Beyond The Door, The Sweet Keen Smell, The Sighing Sound, The Light Around The Shore.

Look In My Face; My Name Is Might-have-been; I Am Also Call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

The Worst Moment For The Atheist Is When He Is Really Thankful And Has Nobody To Thank.