I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark

We Make Guilty Of Our Disasters The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars; As If We Were Villians By Compulsion.

We Have Some Salt Of Our Youth In Us.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

England, Bound In With The Triumphant Sea, Whose Rocky Shore Beats Back The Envious Siege Of Watery Neptune.

Now, Neighbor Confines, Purge You Of Your Scum! Have You A Ruffian That Will Swear, Drink, Dance, Revel The Night, Rob, Murder, And Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind Of Ways?