Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man's deceiver Was never mine.

Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder; So leave alone the grass That I am under.

Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.

They say my verse is sad: no wonder; Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man's.

Could man be drunk for ever With liquor, love, or fights, Lief should I rouse at morning And lief lie down of nights. But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts, And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.

Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.

And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.