They Say Miracles Are Past.

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

Comfort's In Heaven, And We Are On The Earth

Let Me Be That I Am And Seek Not To Alter Me.

I See You Stand Like Greyhounds In The Slips, Straining Upon The Start. The Game's Afoot; Follow Your Spirit: And Upon This Charge, Cry — God For Harry! England And Saint George!

He Is The Most Wretched Of Men Who Has Never Felt Adversity.