For ’t is always fair weather When good fellows get together With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear. - Richard Hovey

In all climes we pitch out tents,
Cronies of the elements,
With the secret lords of birth
Intimate and free.

Shall the iron argue with the smith what it would be?
Or, shall the wrought iron reason with the monger
To whom it would be sold?

I have need of the sky,
I have business with the grass;
I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling
Lone and high,
And the slow clouds go by.
I will get me away to the waters that glass
The clouds as they pass.
I will get me away to the woods.