My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell,
My neighbor must look down on me,
Must I look up?–ah, well,
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell.
My neighbor reads, and prays,
And I–I laugh, God wot,
And sing like a bird when the grass is green
In my small garden plot;
But ah, he reads and prays,
And I–I laugh, God wot.
His face is a book of woe,
And mine is a song of glee;
A slave he is to the great ‘They say,’
But I–I am bold and free;
No wonder he smacks of woe,
And I have the tang of glee.
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
‘The same to yourself,’ say I;
‘Why take your books and take your prayers,
Give me the open sky;’
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
‘The same to yourself,’ say I.
