Little is the luck I've had, And oh, 'tis comfort small - To think that many another lad - Has had no luck at all

Then the world seemed none so bad, and I myself a sterling lad. And down in lovely muck I've lain, happy - till I woke up again.

Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer.

I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.

And malt does more than Milton can To justify the ways of God to man.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.