And May You Happy Live,

We Must Not Look At Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruits: Who Knows Upon What Soil They Fed Their Hungry Thirsty Roots?

It's Surely Summer. For There's A Swallow: Come One Swallow, His Mate Will Follow, The Bird Race Quicken And Wheel And Thicken.

Born In A Stable, Cradled In A Manger, In The World His Hands Have Made, Born A Stranger.

I Have A Room Whereinto No One Enters Save I Myself Alone: There Sits A Blessed Memory On A Throne, There My Life Centres.

Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In Heaven.