The greatest saint of all is she
Who tolerant of each toy
Allows her little girls to play
With this extremely rude and rough
And most untidy boy.

We never know we go, — when we are going
We jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
And we accost no more.

Mary of Holyrood may smile indeed,
Knowing what grim historic shade it shocks
To see wit, laughter and the Popish creed,
Cluster and sparkle in the name of Knox.

We are trying to carry this timber to the building.
Hallelujah, I don't know.

We will make doors and windows in that building.
Hallelujah, I don't know.

We will build it to the glory of the Lord.
Hallelujah, I don't know.

I know a friend, very strong and good. He is the best friend in the world.
I know another friend, subtle and sensitive. He is certainly the best friend on earth.
I know another friend: very quiet and shrewd, there is no friend so good as he.
I know another friend, who is enigmatical and reluctant, he is the best of all.
I know yet another: who is polished and eager, he is far better than the rest.
I know another, who is young and very quick, he is the most beloved of all friends.
I know a lot more and they are all like that.

We are little airy creatures,
All of different voice and features:
One of us in glass is set,
One of us you'll find in jet,
T'other you may see in tin,
And the fourth a box within;
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from you.

The past has been a mint
Of blood and sorrow.
That must not be
True of tomorrow.

Wavelets like rippling trees,
trees that look like mist;
truly an atmosphere of spring clouds drizzling rain.
Where did he catch those fish? Where did he drink wine?
— Beneath cabin-roof of bamboo sheaths he sleeps,
raincoat tossed aside.

Tea is made; the red fogs shut round the house but the gas burns.
I wish I had at this moment round the table
A company of fine people.
Two of them are at Oxford and one in Scotland and two at other places.
But I wish they would all walk in now, for the tea is made.

Water, water I desire,
Here's a house of flesh on fire:
Ope the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings;
What ye cannot quench, pull down;
Spoil a house, to save a town.
Better 'tis that one should fall,
Than by one to hazard all.