So when at times the mob is swayed To carry praise or blame too far, We may choose something like a star To stay our minds on and be staid.
The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.
Ants are a curious race
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.