Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd: dire was the noise Of conflict.

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn.

Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.

Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.

Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round

Goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems.