I Say The Very Things That Make

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

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

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

There Are Hermit Souls That Live Withdrawn In The Place Of Their Self-content; There Are Souls Like Stars That Dwell Apart, In A Fellowless Firmament; There Are Pioneer Souls That Blaze Their Paths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.

Just Drop Your Bucket Where You Are.