St George he was for England,
And before he killed the dragon
He drank a pint of English ale
Out of an English flagon.
...
Sunder me from my bones, O sword of God
Till they stand stark and strange as do the trees;
That I whose heart goes up with the soaring woods
May marvel as much at these.
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If trees were tall and grasses short,
As in some crazy tale,
If here and there a sea were blue
Beyond the breaking pale,
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John Grubby who was short and stout
And troubled with religious doubt,
Refused about the age of three
To sit upon the curate's knee;
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There has fallen on earth for a token
A god too great for the sky.
He has burst out of all things and broken
The bounds of eternity:
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God made the wicked Grocer
For a mystery and a sign,
That men might shun the awful shops
And go to inns to dine;
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For every tiny town or place
God made the stars especially;
Babies look up with owlish face
And see them tangled in a tree;
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You whom the kings saluted; who refused not
The one great pleasure of ignoble days,
Fame without name and glory without gossip,
Whom no biographer befouls with praise.
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It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.
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They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
...