Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.