Whoever has come to the cloudless land
Where the good things grow like grass,
Where the folk stand up like the virgin trees
And their eyes are clean as glass;
Whoever has come through the crack of the world,
Whoever has known, we know
He has never come back, he has never come back
From the place where the good things grow.
Whoever has climbed to the cloudless place
Where the good things grow on trees,
Where the hare and the hunter play together
And Honour can dwell with Ease,
And the hole in the heart is stuffed at last
And pleasure is what we please;
Ah, that is a folly will never be found
Till good things grow on trees.