Ecclesiastes

There is one sin: to call a green leaf grey, Whereat the sun in heaven shuddereth. There is one blasphemy: for death to pray, For God alone knoweth the praise of death.
    There is one creed: 'neath no world-terror's wing Apples forget to grow on apple-trees. There is one thing is needful--everything-- The rest is vanity of vanities.
    THE SONG OF THE CHILDREN
    The World is ours till sunset, Holly and fire and snow; And the name of our dead brother Who loved us long ago.
    The grown folk mighty and cunning, They write his name in gold; But we can tell a little Of the million tales he told.
    He taught them laws and watchwords, To preach and struggle and pray; But he taught us deep in the hayfield The games that the angels play.
    Had he stayed here for ever, Their world would be wise as ours-- And the king be cutting capers, And the priest be picking flowers.
    But the dark day came: they gathered: On their faces we could see They had taken and slain our brother, And hanged him on a tree.