The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.