Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit.

The birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewd…

These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

I think, ofttimes, that lives of men may be Likened to wandering winds that come and go Not knowing whence they rise, whither they blow O'er the vast globe, vo…

Chorus: O suitably attired in leather boots Head of a traveller, wherefore seeking whom Whence by what way how purposed art thou come To this well-nightingaled…