But he was not the sort that say,
“Oh, woe is mine—alack-a-day!”
He lived for Hope, and in some way
Was bound to find it.
“What matter! Let them go,” he’d say;
“Each to his taste—henceforth I’ll play
And sing to Birds alone, for they
Don’t seem to mind it.”
And so he journeyed many a day,
Till now at last his darkening way