No man has seen her, this pitiful ghost, And no woman either, but heard her at most, Sighing and tapping and sighing again, You have weaned me too soon, you must nurse me again.

Who is this that comes in grandeur, coming from the blazing East? This is he we had not thought of, this is he the airy Christ.

The boat that took my love away He sent again to me To tell me that he would not sleep Alone beneath the sea.

All the same, there is a difficulty. I should like him to be happy in heaven here, But he cannot come by wishing. Only by being already at home here.

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, …

What's to become of the morally sound? Left out in the cold, I suppose. We must heal the sick.

Water, Loo! water, Loo! fetch me some water! There isn't a drop for a mile and a quarter! The ground is so hard and the ground is so dry I'm frightened my litt…