In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which see >>
The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall >>
Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land >>
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, >>
A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembl >>
Remembrance of things past. >>
That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.