Ring out the false, ring in the true.

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

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.

Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.

I do but sing because I must; and pipe but as the linnets sing.

The year is dying in the night.