Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it; but if often costs the world very dear.

History of Ireland--lawlessness and turbulency, robbery and oppression, hatred and revenge, blind selfishness everywhere--no principle, no heroism. What can be done with it?

Fairies, arouse! Mix with your song Harplet and pipe, Thrilling and clear, Swarm on the boughs! Chant in a throng! Morning is ripe, Waiting to hear.

I always get back to the question, is it really necessary that men should consume so much of their bodily and mental energies in the machinery of civilized life? The world seems to me to do much of its toil for that which is not in any sense bread. Again, does not the latent feeling that much of their striving is to no purpose tend to infuse large quantities of sham into men's work?

Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!