Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.
No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.
Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
Never to talk to ones self is a form of hypocrisy