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

On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.

I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.