Sweet cyder is a great thing,

   A great thing to me,

Spinning down to Weymouth town

   By Ridgway thirstily,

And maid and mistress summoning

   Who tend the hostelry:

O cyder is a great thing,

   A great thing to me!

The dance it is a great thing,

   A great thing to me,

With candles lit and partners fit

   For night-long revelry;

And going home when day-dawning

   Peeps pale upon the lea:

O dancing is a great thing,

   A great thing to me!

Love is, yea, a great thing,

   A great thing to me,

When, having drawn across the lawn

   In darkness silently,

A figure flits like one a-wing

   Out from the nearest tree:

O love is, yes, a great thing,

   A great thing to me!

Will these be always great things,

   Great things to me? . . .

Let it befall that One will call,

   “Soul, I have need of thee:”

What then?  Joy-jaunts, impassioned flings,

   Love, and its ecstasy,

Will always have been great things,

   Great things to me!