Not What We Give, But What We

Though Old The Thought And Oft Exprest, Tis His At Last Who Says It Best.

True Love Is But A Humble, Low Born Thing, And Hath Its Food Served Up In Earthenware; It Is A Thing To Walk With, Hand In Hand, Through The Every-dayness Of This Workday World.

How I Do Love The Earth. I Feel It Thrill Under My Feet. I Feel Somehow As If It Were Conscious Of My Love, As If Something Passed Into My Dancing Blood From It.

Ah, In This World, Where Every Guiding Thread Ends Suddenly In The One Sure Centre, Death, The Visionary Hand Of Might-have-been Alone Can Fill Desire's Cup To The Brim!

Not But Wut Abstract War Is Horrid, I Sign To Thet With All My Heart, But Civilysation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes, Upon A Powder-cart.