The old order changes yielding place to new.
An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
For love reflects the thing beloved.
From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.