Men Of England, Wherefore Plough For The

In The Golden Lightning Of The Sunken Sun O'er Which Clouds Are Brightening, Thou Dost Float And Run Like An Unbodied Joy Whose Race Is Just Begun.

Gold Is A Living God And Rules In Scorn, All Earthly Things But Virtue.

I Love Tranquil Solitude And Such Society As Is Quiet, Wise, And Good.

Nothing In The World Is Single, All Things By A Law Divine, In One Spirit Meet And Mingle-why Not I With Thine?

I Could Lie Down Like A Tired Child, And Weep Away The Life Of Care Which I Have Borne, And Yet Must Bear.