The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.

All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.

And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

Cricket, however, has more in it than mere efficiency. There is something called the spirit of cricket, which cannot be defined.

O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

The noonday quiet holds the hill.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.