Listen now this time Shortly to my rhyme That herewith starts About certain kind hearts In those stricken parts

On the eighth day God died; his b… That had been shut so long flew op… So Adam’s too in a dismay like de… But the world still rolled on arou… Instinct with all those lesser pow…

The youngest poet down the shelves… In a dim library, just behind the… From which the ancient poet was mu… A song about some Lovers at a Fai… Pulling his long white beard and g…

SHE: You’ll not forget these roc… HE: How could I? Never: whatever… SHE: What do you think might hap… Might you fall out of love? —did y… HE: Never, never! `Whatever’ was…

An ancient saga tells us how In the beginning the First Cow (For nothing living yet had birth But Elemental Cow on earth) Began to lick cold stones and mud:

“Is that the Three—and—Twentieth,… Marching below, and we still gulpi… From the sad magic of his fragrant… The red—faced old centurion starte… Cursed, battered on the table. “N…

Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn sp… I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions,

Here in turn succeed and rule Carter, smith, and village fool, Then again the place is known As tavern, shop, and Sunday—schoo… Now somehow it’s come to me

Mother: Alice, dear, what ails yo… Dazed and white and shaken? Has the chill night numbed you? Is it fright you have taken? Alice: Mother I am very well,

‘Come, surly fellow, come! A song… What, madmen? Sing to you? Choose from the clouded tales of w… And terror I bring to you. Of a night so torn with cries,

Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry,

As Jesus and his followers Upon a Sabbath morn Were walking by a wheat field They plucked the ears of corn. They plucked it, they rubbed it,

Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright—red hair. The books that he’s written

I never dreamed we’d meet that day In our old haunts down Fricourt w… Plotting such marvellous journeys… For jolly old “Après—la—guerre.” Well, when it’s over, first we’ll…