Seek Not For Fresher Founts Afar, Just

One Day Through The Primeval Wood A Calf Walked Home As Good Calves Should; But Made A Trail All Bent Askew, A Crooked Trail As All Calves Do. . . . . And Men Two Centuries And A Half Trod In The Footsteps Of That Calf.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fishers Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong.

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

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? . W'en You Travel Through The Strange Country T'other Side The Range, Then The Souls You've Cheered Will Know Who You Be, An' Say Hullo.

A Hundred Thousand Men Were Led By One Calf Near Three Centuries Dead; They Followed Still His Crooked Way And Lost A Hundred Years A Day; For Thus Such Reverence Is Lent To Well Established Precedent.