Tomorrow Let Us Do Or

The Smaller Your Reality, The More Convinced You Are That You Know Everything.

Britannia Needs No Bulwarks, No Towers Along The Steep; Her March Is O'er The Mountain Waves, Her Home Is On The Deep.

On Linden, When The Sun Was Low, All Bloodless Lay The Untrodden Snow, And Dark As Winter Was The Flow Of Iser, Rolling Rapidly.

Without The Smile From Partial Beauty Won, O What Were Man? - A World Without A Sun.

On The Green Banks Of Shannon, When Sheelah Was Nigh, No Blithe Irish Lad Was So Happy As I, No Harp Like My Own Could So Cheerily Play, And Wherever I Went Was My Poor Dog Tray.