All a hobbit really wants is his pipe and his armchair;
And at times some merry music and a jug to share.
I gave my heart into my Beloved’s hands, and in its place
He gave me a mirror in which I could see his lovely face.
Although I have given myself to my Beloved without reservation,
This tug of war between us still goes on.
Time was, not so long ago either, when I sought for rewards;
Now I look on while others take their bow and the world applauds.
If they who take L.S.D. only knew what sort of wine is being doled out
In the Wineshop in Love Street, it would be a case of all plane-flights sold out.
I am the slave of the Master who has not released me from ignorance:
Like a planet round the shining sun I am content to swing in His dance.
The Master opened the wineshop again last night, and filled our glasses
And comforted us in our dejection. His mercy never ceases.
Since you planted your banner in my heart, my heart has become
A field of battle against the Pretender to your kingdom.
In the Far East they are driving out the dead religions;
In the West there are the Damn-your-authority protest legions.