“Ensanguining the skies, How heavily it dies, Into the west away; Past touch and sight and sound, Not further to be found, How hopeless under ground, Falls the remorseful day”
“Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer. Then the world seemed none so bad, and I myself a sterling lad. And down in lovely muck I've lain, happy -- till I woke up again.”
