Give Me A Land Of Boughs In

They Put Arsenic In His Meat And Stared Aghast To Watch Him Eat; They Poured Strychnine In His Cup And Shook To See Him Drink It Up.

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.

Who Made The World I Cannot Tell; 'tis Made, And Here Am I In Hell. My Hand, Though Now My Knuckles Bleed, I Never Soiled With Such A Deed.

Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now Is Hung With Bloom Along The Bough.

The Thoughts Of Others Were Light And Fleeting, Of Lovers' Meeting Or Luck Or Fame. Mine Were Of Trouble, And Mine Were Steady; So I Was Ready When Trouble Came.