All But Blind In His Chambered Hole

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.

What Is The World, O Soldiers? It Is I, I, This Incessant Snow, This Northern Sky.

Oh, Pity The Poor Glutton Whose Troubles All Begin In Struggling On And On To Turn What's Out Into What's In.