I said to Heart, "How goes it?" Heart replied: "Right as a Ribstone Pippin!" But it lied.
Of courtesy, it is much less Than courage of heart or holiness, Yet in my walks it seems to me That the Grace of God is in courtesy.
The tender Evenlode that makes Her meadows hush to hear the sound Of waters mingling in the brakes, And binds my heart to English ground. A lovely river, all alone, She lingers in the hills and holds A hundred little towns of stone, Forgotten in the western wolds.
I said to Heart, 'How goes it?' Heart replied: 'Right as a Ribstone Pippin!'