Other Heights In Other Lives,

Oh, To Be In England Now That April's There, And Whoever Wakes In England Sees, Some Morning, Unaware.

We Mortals Cross The Ocean Of This World Each In His Average Cabin Of A Life; The Bests Not Big, The Worst Yields Elbowroom.

Better Have Failed In The High Aim, As I, Than Vulgarly In The Low Aim Succeed As, God Be Thanked! I Do Not.

Who Hears Music Feels His Solitude Peopled At Once.

Sing, Riding 's A Joy! For Me I Ride.