Where the Good Things Grow

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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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