Three Jolly Huntsmen, In Coats Of Red,

It Was A Pity Thoughts Always Ran The Easiest Way, Like Water In Old Ditches.

What Is The World, O Soldiers? It Is I, I, This Incessant Snow, This Northern Sky.

What Lovely Things Thy Hand Hath Made.

A Face Peered. All The Grey Night In Chaos Of Vacancy Shone; Nought But Vast Sorrow Was There The Sweet Cheat Gone.

Oh, Pity The Poor Glutton Whose Troubles All Begin In Struggling On And On To Turn What's Out Into What's In.