I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.

His face was filled with broken commandments.

People who leave their own time out of their work cannot be surprised if their time fails to find them interesting.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.

So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright; And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.

The days that make us happy make us wise

It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.