Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.

Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge, Gold that I never see; Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge That will not shower on me.

Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.

There, like the wind through woods in riot, Through him the gale of life blew high; The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.

Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home.

Don't say nothing bout the old house. Cos I burned it to the ground. And when the darkness comes, I lie awake. Playing lost and found ~ 'All At Once'

'Didn't this used to be our dining-room table back at Sutherland Street, Frank?' said Kathleen.