Go, little book, and wish to all
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,
A bin of wine, a spice of wit,
A house with lawns enclosing it,
A living river by the door,
A nightingale in the sycamore!

I SIT in a chair and read the newspapers.

Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind.

I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.

1. GOOD NIGHT
When the bright lamp is carried in,
The sunless hours again begin;
O'er all without, in field and lane,
The haunted night returns again.

In Adriatick waves when Neptune saw,
The City stand, and give the Seas a Law,
Now i'th Tarpeian tow'rs Jove rival me,
And Mars his Walls impregnable, said he;
Let Seas to Tyber yield, view both their ods,
You'l grant that built by Men, but this by Gods.

Lucasta frown and let me die,
But smile and see I live;
The sad indifference of your Eye
Both kills, and doth reprieve.
You hide our fate within its screen,
We feel our judgment ere we hear:
So in one Picture I have seen
An Angel here, the Divel there.

As froth on the face of the deep,
As foam on the crest of the sea,
As dreams at the waking of sleep,
As gourd of a day and a night,
As harvest that no man shall reap,
As vintage that never shall be,
Is hope if it cling not aright,
O my God, unto Thee.

As one red rose in a garden where all other roses are white
Blossoms alone in its glory, crowned all alone
In a solitude of own sweetness and fragrance of own delight,
With loveliness not another's and thorns its own;
As one ruddy sun amid million orbs comely and colourless,
Among all others, above all others is known;
As it were alone in the garden, alone in the heavenly place,
Chief and centre of all, in fellowship yet alone.

In English.

A Swain, Hind, Knight; I fed, till'd, did command
Goats, Fields, my Foes; with leaves, a spade, my hand.

Sweet, sweet, is sleep, — Ah! sweeter, to be stone,
Whilst wrong & shame exist & grow;
Not to see, not to feel, is a boon;
Then, not to wake me, pray speak low!
Michelangelo

Fortune and Hope! I've made my port,
Farewell ye twin deceivers!
You've trained me many a weary chase,
Go cozen new believers.
Prudentius