If A Chap Can't Compose

Slayer Of The Winter, Art Thou Here Again? O Welcome, Thou That Bring'st The Summer Nigh! The Bitter Wind Makes Not The Victory Vain. Nor Will We Mock Thee For Thy Faint Blue Sky.

Love Is Enough: Though The World Be A-waning, And The Woods Have No Voice But The Voice Of Complaining.

And The Deeds That Ye Do Upon This Earth, It Is For Fellowship's Sake That Ye Do Them.

The Wind Is Not Helpless For Any Man's Need, Nor Falleth The Rain But For Thistle And Weed.

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.