| |
| WE are as mendicants who wait | |
| Along the roadside in the sun. | |
| Tatters of yesterday and shreds | |
| Of morrow clothe us every one. | |
| |
| And some are dotards, who believe | 5 |
| And glory in the days of old; | |
| While some are dreamers, harping still | |
| Upon an unknown age of gold. | |
| |
| Hopeless or witless! Not one heeds, | |
| As lavish Time comes down the way | 10 |
| And tosses in the suppliant hat | |
| One great new-minted gold To-day. | |
| |
| Ungrateful heart and grudging thanks, | |
| His beggar’s wisdom only sees | |
| Housing and bread and beer enough; | 15 |
| He knows no other things than these. | |
| |
| O foolish ones, put by your care! | |
| Where wants are many, joys are few; | |
| And at the wilding springs of peace, | |
| God keeps an open house for you. | 20 |
| |
| But that some Fortunatus’ gift | |
| Is lying there within his hand, | |
| More costly than a pot of pearls, | |
| His dulness does not understand. | |
| |
| And so his creature heart is filled; | 25 |
| His shrunken self goes starved away. | |
| Let him wear brand-new garments still, | |
| Who has a threadbare soul, I say. | |
| |
| But there be others, happier few, | |
| The vagabondish sons of God, | 30 |
| Who know the by-ways and the flowers, | |
| And care not how the world may plod. | |
| |
| They idle down the traffic lands, | |
| And loiter through the woods with spring; | |
| To them the glory of the earth | 35 |
| Is but to hear a bluebird sing. | |
| |
| They too receive each one his Day; | |
| But their wise heart knows many things | |
| Beyond the sating of desire, | |
| Above the dignity of kings. | 40 |
| |
| One I remember kept his coin, | |
| And laughing flipped it in the air; | |
| But when two strolling pipe-players | |
| Came by, he tossed it to the pair. | |
| |
| Spendthrift of joy, his childish heart | 45 |
| Danced to their wild outlandish bars; | |
| Then supperless he laid him down | |
| That night, and slept beneath the stars. | |
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