I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart
We love the things we love for what they are.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.
Come grow old with me, for the best is yet to come!
Keep all ur troubles in ur own pocket. But, make sure that the pocket has a hole!
I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago.