What I Do Is Me,

Lovely The Woods, Waters, Meadows, Combes, Vales, All The Air Things Wear That Build This World Of Wales.

Crystal Sincerity Hath Found No Shelter But In A Fool's Cap.

And Though We Do Have Him Before Our Eyes, Masked In The Sacred Host, At Mass And Benediction And Within Our Lips Receive Him At Communion, Yet To Hear Of Him And Dwell On The Thought Of Him Will Do Us Good.

It Is A Happy Thing That There Is No Royal Road To Poetry. The World Should Know By This Time That One Cannot Reach Parnassus Except By Flying Thither.

Religion, You Know, Enters Very Deep; In Reality It Is The Deepest Impression I Have In Speaking To People, That They Are Or That They Are Not Of My Religion.