Ring The Alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! Come, Wrack!

Wert Thou As Far As That Vast Shore Washed With The Farthest Sea, I Would Adventure For Such Merchandise.

Music, Moody Food Of Us That Trade In Love.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Sceptered Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise, This Fortress Built By Nature For Herself Against Infection And The Hand Of War, This Happy Breed Of Men, This Little World, This Precious Stone Set In The Silver Sea, Which Serves It In The Office Of A Wall Or As A Moat Defensive To A House, Against The Envy Of Less Happier Lands,--this Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.