Wonders I sing; the sun has set; no night has followed. [Lat., Mira cano; sol occubuit; Nox nulla secuta est.]

We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.

There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.

She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.

It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augures and understood relations have By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud Without our special wonder?