On the Hill there stands a Gate
Where folk go early and come back late.
The young ones leap to reach the crown
And meet the old ones limping down.
Their tongues are mute and their eyes are wide,
And they tell no tales of the other side.
None who has been there ever will
Speak of the High Gate on the Hill.
Eleanor Farjeon (1881 - 1965) England
From Nursery Rhymes of London Town, 1916
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