There was an Old Person of Shields,
Who frequented the valley and fields;
All the mice and the cats, and the snakes and the rats,
Followed after that person of Shields.

The thought beneath so slight a film
Is more distinctly seen, —
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.

Though tuneless, stringless, it lies there in dust,
Like some great thought on a forgotten page;
The soul of music cannot fade or rust, —
The voice within it stronger grows with age;
Its strings and bow are only trifling things —
A master-touch! — its sweet soul wakes and sings.

" The mills of the gods grind late, but they grind fine. "
GREEK POET .
Though THE MILLS of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.

Though singing but the shy and sweet
Untrod by multitudes of feet,
Songs bounded by the brook and wheat,
— I have not failed in this,
The only lure my woodland note,
To win all England's whitest throat!
O bards in gold and fire who wrote,
— Be yours all other bliss!

Though good things answer many good intents,
Crosses do still bring forth the best events.

Thou wert the morning star among the living
Ere thy fair light had fled;--
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead.
Language has not the power to speak what love indites;
The Soul lies buried in the ink that writes.

Those men who love the crwth and harp,
Cynghanedd, song, the englyn's art,
They love the best things God has given
To please his angel-hosts in heaven.

This white sedge hat came from Kyoto yesterday.
Why shouldn't I lend my man this white sedge hat?
Lean on me, I'll let you wear this Kyoto-curved hat.
If you lean on me, I'll let you wear this lovely little sedge hat.
You're too young — I won't let you row in the swampy paddies without a hat!

This terror in whose thrall I am
I have inherited
From the knock that comes in the night
And has no appointed time
Being given at all times.