In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

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

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.

Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.