Never, no never, listen too long,
To the chattering wind in the willow, the night bird's song.
'Tis sad in sooth to lie under the grass,
But none too gladsome to wake and grow cold where life's shadows pass.
Dumb the old Toll-Woman squats,
And, for every green copper battered and worn, doles out Nevers and Nots.
I know a Blind Man, too,
Who with a sharp ear listens and listens the whole world through.
Oh, sit we snug to our feast,
With platter and finger and spoon - and good victuals at least.