It Kills Me To Be Time's Eunuch

By The By, If The English Race Had Done Nothing Else, Yet If They Left The World The Notion Of A Gentleman, They Would Have Done A Great Service To Mankind.

Glory Be To God For Dappled Things- For Skies Of Couple-colour As A Brinded Cow; For Rose-moles All In Stipple Upon Trout That Swim; Fresh-firecoal Chestnut-falls; Finches' Wings; Landscape Plotted And Pieced-fold, Fallow, And Plough; And áll Trádes, Their Gear And Tackle And Trim. All Things Counter, Original, Spare, Strange; Whatever Is Fickle, Freckled (who Knows How?) With Swift, Slow; Sweet, Sour; Adazzle, Dim; He Fathers-forth Whose Beauty Is Past Change: Praise Him.

For Myself I Make No Secret, I Look Forward With Eager Desire To Seeing The Matchless Beauty Of Christ's Body In The Heavenly Light.

You Do Not Mean By Mystery What A Catholic Does. You Mean An Interesting Uncertainty: The Uncertainty Ceasing Interest Ceases Also.... But A Catholic By Mystery Means An Incomprehensible Certainty: Without Certainty, Without Formulation There Is No Interest;... The Clearer The Formulation The Greater The Interest.

And The Headbonny Ash That Sits Over The Burn. What Would The World Be, Once Bereft Of Wet And Of Wildness? Let Them Be Left, O Let Them Be Left, Wildness And Wet: Long Live The Weeds And The Wilderness Yet.