But The Best I've Known Stays Here,

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow

.. . . Would I Were In Grantchester, In Grantchester!

There Are Only Three Things In The World, One Is To Read Poetry, Another Is To Write Poetry, And The Best Of All Is To Live Poetry.

There's Little Comfort In The Wise

These Laid The World Away; Poured Out The Red Sweet Wine Of Youth; Gave Up The Years To Be Of Work And Joy, And That Unhoped Serene, That Men Call Age; And Those Who Would Have Been, Their Sons, They Gave, Their Immortality.