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!