The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers' meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.

There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.

Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.

I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist); and that philosophy is founded on my observation of the world, not on anything so trivial and irrelevant as personal history.

The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers' meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.

Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.

White in the moon the long road lies.