The place is calm, dusty worries clear;
after rain, the mountain takes on luster.
Pool pavilion hides a quiet place;
lute and wine express our yearning feelings.
Verdant, these flourishing spring woods,
bringing rest to our weary wings.
On the rock are inscribed words:
moss eats at them, they are hard to read ( pien ).

A pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love:
The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.

Pitty Patty Polt!
Shoe the wild colt,
Here a nail,
There a nail,
Pitty Patty Polt!

Pitter-patter, hear it raining?
Slow at first, then faster, faster.
Put on your raincoat,
Hold up your umbrella,
Pull on your Wellingtons
And splash in the puddles.

The Piper's music fills the street,
The Piper's music makes the heat
Hotter by ten degrees:
Hand us a Sonnet, dear Mathias,
Hand us a Sonnet cool and dry as
Your very best, and we shall freeze.

Piped a tiny voice hard by,
Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,
" Chic-chicadee-dee! " Saucy note
Out of a sound heart and a merry throat,
As if it said, " Good day, good sir.
Fine afternoon, old passenger!
Happy to meet you in these places
When January brings new faces! "

Steddefast cross, inmong alle other
Thou art a tree mikel of prise;
In braunche and flowre swilk another
I ne wot non in wode no rise.
Swete be the nailes, and swete be the tree,
And sweter be the birden that hanges upon thee.

Phillips! whose touch harmonious could remove
The pangs of guilty pow'r and hapless love,
Rest here, distressed by poverty no more,
Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;
Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

Peter and Michael were two little menikin,
They kept a cock and a fat little henikin;
Instead of an egg, it laid a gold penikin,
Oh, how they wish it would do it againikin!

Perception of an object costs
Precise the Object's loss —
Perception in itself a Gain
Replying to its Price —
The Object Absolute — is nought —
Perception sets it fair
And then upbraids a Perfectness
That situates so far —