Seek Not For Fresher Founts Afar, Just

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fisher Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong. There Are Thoughts That Moan From The Soul Of The Pine And Thoughts In A Flower-bell Curled; And The Thoughts That Are Blown With The Scent Of The Fern Are As New And As Old As The World.

W'en You See A Man In Woe, Walk Right Up And Say 'hullo'; Say "hullo" And "how D'ye Do. How's The World A-usin' You?

Just Drop Your Bucket Where You Are.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunter Of Dreams...

Seek Not For Fresher Founts Afar, Just Drop You Bucket Where You Are.