The Fairy Poet Takes A Sheet Of

I Think That I Shall Never See A Poem Lovely As A Tree. A Tree Whose Hungry Mouth Is Prest Against The Earth's Sweet Flowing Breast.

I Suppose I Passed It A Hundred Times, But I Always Stop For A Minute. And Look At The House, The Tragic House, The House With Nobody In It.

The Only Reason A Road Is Good As Every Wanderer Knows / Is Just Because Of The Homes, The Homes, The Homes To Which One Goes

They Say That Life Is A Highway And Its Milestones Are The Years,and Now And Then There's A Toll-gate Where You Buy Your Way With Tears.it's A Rough Road And A Steep Road And It Stretches Broad And Far,but At Last It Leads To A Golden Town Where Golden Houses Are.

In Memoriam: Florence Nightingale She Whom We Love, Our Lady Of Compassion, Can Never Die, For Love Forbids Her Death. Love Has Bent Down In His Old Kindly Fashion, And Breathed Upon Her His Immortal Breath. On Wounded Soldiers, In Their Anguish Lying, Her Gentle Spirit Shall Descend Like Rain. Where The White Flag With The Red Cross Is Flying, There Shall She Dwell, The Vanquisher Of Pain.