How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!

There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music

It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.