A Garden, Sir, Wherein All

O Mary, Go And Call The Cattle Home, And Call The Cattle Home, And Call The Cattle Home, Across The Sands O' Dee!

Give Me Something Huge To Fight, — And I Should Enjoy That — But Why Make Me Sweep The Dust?

Every Winter, When The Great Sun Has Turned His Face Away, The Earth Goes Down Into A Vale Of Grief, And Fasts, And Weeps, And Shrouds Herself In Sables, Leaving Her Wedding-garlands To Decay- Then Leaps In Spring To His Returning Kisses.

Did It Ever Strike You That Goodness Is Not Merely A Beautiful Thing, But By Far The Most Beautiful Thing In The Whole World? So That Nothing Is To Be Compared For Value With Goodness; That Riches, Honor, Power, Pleasure, Learning, The Whole World And All In It, Are Not Worth Having In Comparison With Being Good; And The Utterly Best Thing For A Person Is To Be Good, Even Though They Were Never To Be Rewarded For It.

Oh! That We Two Were Maying Down The Stream Of The Soft Spring Breeze; Like Children With Violets Playing, In The Shade Of The Whispering Trees.