A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Alfred Lord TennysonI come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
Alfred Lord TennysonRing out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Alfred Lord Tennyson