What else have I done nearly all my life than go hungry and go on singing?
There is only one child in the world and the Child’s name is All Children.
Nothing happens... but first a dream.
Poetry is a theorem of a yellow-silk handkerchief knotted with riddles, sealed in a balloon tied to the tail of a kite flying in a white wind against a blue sky in spring.
The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
I can remember only a few of the strange and curious words now dead but living and spoken by the English people a thousand years ago.