O soul, for they were long. Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason, I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. Empty heads and tongues a-talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around.
Lays lads underground.
When I was a Knighton lad. If sorrow is with one still. And if as a lad grows older The troubles he bears are more, He carries his griefs on a shoulder That handselled them long before. And stedfastly he looked at me. I too would be where I am not.