There Are Purple Grapes In The Land

There Are Purple Grapes In The Land Of Git-thare.

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 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.

Bring Me Men To Match My Mountains: Bring Me Men To Match My Plains: Men With Empires In Their Purpose And New Eras In Their Brains.

There Are Hermit Souls That Live Withdrawn In The Place Of Their Self-content; There Are Souls Like Stars That Dwell Apart, In A Fellowless Firmament; There Are Pioneer Souls That Blaze Their Paths Where Highways Never Ran,-- But Let Me Live By The Side Of The Road, And Be A Friend To Man.