Just the one prize vouchsafed unworthy me, / Seven years a gardener of the untoward ground.

The year's at the spring / And day's at the morn; / Morning's at seven; / The hillside's dew-pearled; / The lark's on the wing; / The snail's on the thorn; / God's in his heaven - / All's right with the world!

One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'

There's nothing untoward about it.

If two lives join, there is oft a scar, / They are one and one, with a shadowy third; / One near one is too far.

There's a great text in Galatians, / Once you trip on it, entails / Twenty-nine distinct damnations, / One sure if another fails.