How many poets in the night have sung
sweet-nestled world on slender means all strung
like raiment for a queen, adorning
the arm of virtue with the joy of morning;
All lace adorned and vested for the feast
when first the light of day breaks on the east,
and youth first testing in the frost-nipped morn
a song of Ruth amid the alien corn.
Such revelry for fancy is not wanting
such quiet for the soul has not been spare
such tutelage for heart and soul were spent
with prodigality for man's content;
and where the best of heart and mind and soul
conjoined with God and felt the drummers roll
sweet thunder for the sweetness that is life
falls now the shadow of the high-court's knife!