One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.

Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

A man in armor is his armor's slave.

Our aspirations are our responsibilities.

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