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Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here To the beautiful land of Nod.
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No question is ever settled until it is settled right.
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So many Gods, so many creeds So many ways that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind is all this sad world needs.
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There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.
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Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.
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