I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.

Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.

Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth

To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been; and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.

Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.