America, America, God shed His grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.

They shall not pass till the stars be darkened: Two swords crossed in front of the Hun; Never a groan but God has harkened, Counting their cruelties one by one.

Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.

It is the hour to rend thy chains, the blossom time of souls.

Shakespeare's frequent horseback journeys from London to Stratford, and from Stratford to London, must have made him familiar with the county of Oxfordshire.

Warwick Castle, built of the very centuries, cannot be expected to alter with time's 'brief hours and weeks' - at least, with so few of them as fall to one poor mortal's lot. From visit to visit, I find it as unchanged as the multiplication table.