Where the Good Things Grow

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.
—G.K. Chesterton

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