The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.

Earth's crammed with Heaven.

Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossessed. But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest!