It Ought To Have Gangsters,

O Lovely Lily Clean, O Lily Springing Green, O Lily Bursting White, Dear Lily Of Delight, Spring In My Heart Agen That I May Flower To Men.

Once In A Century A Man May Be Ruined Or Made Insufferable By Praise. But Surely Once In A Minute Something Generous Dies For Want Of It.

What Am I, Life? A Thing Of Watery Salt Held In Cohesion By Unresting Cells, Which Work They Know Not Why, Which Never Halt, Myself Unwitting Where Their Master Dwells?

All I Ask Is A Tall Ship And A Star To Sail Her By.

I Have Seen The Lady April Bringing The Daffodils, Bringing The Springing Grass And The Soft Warm April Rain.