Too Many People In The

And London Shops On Christmas Eve Are Strung With Silver Bells And Flowers As Hurrying Clerks The City Leave To Pigeon-haunted Classic Towers, And Marbled Clouds Go Scudding By The Many-steepled London Sky

Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

One Mark Of Good Verse Is Surprise

Oh Wasn't It Naughty Of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm Sick With Disgust. She Threww Me In Front Of The Judges, And My Silly Old Collar-bone's Bust.

History Must Not Be Written With Bias, And Both Sides Must Be Given, Even If There Is Only One Side.