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.