I Find Cambridge An Asylum, In Every

I Do Not Choose The Right Word, I Get Rid Of The Wrong One.

The Fairies Break Their Dances And Leave The Printed Lawn.

Tomorrow, More's The Pity, Away We Both Must Hie, To Air The Ditty And To Earth I.

But Men At Whiles Are Sober And Think By Fits And Starts. And If They Think, They Fasten Their Hands Upon Their Hearts

The Troubles Of Our Proud And Angry Dust Are From Eternity, And Shall Not Fail. Bear Them We Can, And If We Can We Must. Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink Your Ale.