So, Blind To Someone I

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.

Too Late For Fruit, Too Soon For Flowers.

But Beauty Vanishes; Beauty Passes; However Rare Rare It Be; And When I Crumble, Who Will Remember This Lady Of The West Country?

As Soon As They're Out Of Your Sight, You Are Out Of Their Mind.

Oh, No Man Knows Through What Wild Centuries Roves Back The Rose.