As some pale-lidded ghost that calls

I wait secure until that other goes

Leaving thee free for thy high self of old,

Upon which soul then free, will mine beget

Such mighty fantasies as we before

Bade stand effulgent and rejoice the world.

I wait secure and waiting know I not

A bite of anger at thy littleness, nor even envy

Of that other one that bindeth thee

Within the close-hewn shroud of womanhood.

Being at peace with God and all his stars

Why should I quail the stings of nettle Time

Or fret the hour. Are there canals less green

Or do the mottled colors of reflexion

Less dew their waters with mild harmony?

Is there less merriment and life withall

Amid this hoard of half-tamed brats

That rollick o’er the well-curb, while one crowned

In mock of finery doth lead the rout

Half-scared at all the new-found pomp

Atop of him? A Czar in very soul

And if they mock the world in this their spot

Is not their jest as near to wisdom as are we?