No wind in the leaves
No sun ‘bove the earth
No snow falling in sheaves
No joy no mirth

But blissful is the heart of a man
Who lives a life bestowed with ease
Who doesn’t dream to cross the seven seas
Who hasn’t got a home but the muddy street
Who hasn’t got a soul to bless; neither a person to greet
Who hasn’t got any fear; nor any pain
Wind doesn’t matter to him; nor does the rain.
And all that he has is himself
And he just loves loving it
He grows old and he dies
But the world doesn’t remember him a bit.