Tale on tale in measured line,-
Tales of gods and tales of heroes,-
Banquets where the ruby wine
And the ambrosia of the immortals
Marked the progress slow of time;
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Where no toil nor care can enter,
Free from changing scenes of clime,
Free from winter's bitter chill,
And free from summer's scorching wind.
Why pursue the story further
Toward the inevitable decline
Of my hopes so dearly cherished,
Of my peace of soul and mind?
Like some gloomy crag portraying
On its weather-beaten front
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Co-operative Society Bulletin.
