Rats They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?

Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!

Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

A man in armour is his armour's slave.

My care is for myself; Myself am whole and sole reality.