An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.

The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

For always roaming with a hungry heart.

For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.