We idolized the Beatles, except for those of us who idolized the Rolling Stones, who in those days still had many of their original teeth.
Say, care-worn man, Whom Duty chains within the city walls, Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays The fresh wind oer thy sickly brow, when free To tread the springy turf,— to hear the trees Communing with the gales,—to catch the voice Of waters, gushing from their rocky womb, And singing as they wander. . . Spring-hours will come again, and feelings rise With dewy freshness oer thy witherd heart.