Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside, And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.

That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer.

Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.

To justify God's ways to man.

Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.