Earth And High Heaven Are Fixed Of

And Malt Does More Than Milton Can To Justify God's Ways To Man.

That Is The Land Of Lost Content, I See It Shining Plain, The Happy Highways Where I Went And Cannot Come Again.

These, In The Day When Heaven Was Falling, The Hour When Earth's Foundations Fled, Followed Their Mercenary Calling And Took Their Wages And Are Dead. The British Regulars Who Made The Retreat From Mons, Beginning August 24, 1914.

Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now Is Hung With Bloom Along The Bough.

Poems Very Seldom Consist Of Poetry And Nothing Else; And Pleasure Can Be Derived Also From Their Other Ingredients. I Am Convinced That Most Readers, When They Think They Are Admiring Poetry, Are Deceived By Inability To Analyse Their Sensations, And That They Are Really Admiring, Not The Poetry Of The Passage Before Them, But Something Else In It, Which They Like Better Than Poetry.