Ensanguining the skies, How heavily it dies, Into the west away; Past touch and sight and sound, Not further to be found, How hopeless under ground, Falls the remorseful day.

298

I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.

247

Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer. Then the world seemed none so bad, and I myself a sterling lad. And down in lovely muck I've lain, happy - till I woke up again.

192

Nature not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.

191

This is for all ill-treated fellows - Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they're in trouble And I am not.

183

Little is the luck I've had, And oh, 'tis comfort small - To think that many another lad - Has had no luck at all.

158

And malt does more than Milton can To justify the ways of God to man.

130

I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.

122

That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

67