Now, Don't Be Angry After

Cities And Thrones And Powers Stand In Time's Eye, Almost As Long As Flowers, Which Daily Die

All The People Like Us Are We, And Everyone Else Is They.

We Have Learned To Whittle The Eden Tree To The Shape Of A Surplice Peg, We Have Learned To Bottle Our Parents Twain In The Yelk Of An Addled Egg. We Know That The Tail Must Wag The Dog, For The Horse Is Drawn By The Cart, But The Devil Whoops, As He Whooped Of Old; It's Clever, But Is It Art?

If You Can Keep Your Wits About You While All Others Are Losing Theirs, And Blaming You. The World Will Be Yours And Everything In It, What's More, You'll Be A Man, My Son.

Our England Is A Garden, And Such Gardens Are Not Made By Singing 'oh How Wonderful' And Sitting In The Shade, While Better Men Than We Go Out, And Start Their Working Lives By Grubbing Weeds From Garden Paths With Broken Dinner Knives.