Life must go on, Though good men die.

[on going to Sunday school:] It looks like rain, and I hope it will rain cats and dogs and hammers and pitchforks and silver sugar spoons and hay ricks and paper-covered novels and picture frames and rag carpets and toothpicks and skating rinks and birds of paradise and roof gardens and burdocks and French grammars before Sunday school time.

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.

Not for the flag Of any land because myself was born there Will I give up my life. But I will love that land where man is free, And that will I defend.

We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.

After the feet of beauty fly my own.