Pilferage some joys from laboring soul
Or storm upon a light brain
And plunder the plain sorrow
That quickly fade like the colors on brushes
No more heart crushing like sugar cane
Or freezing the blood warm in unspoken pain
Nor absolute loyalty to moon and heaven
And roaming butterfly now ye,
Riot of beauty in rose garden with little substance.
Salute those fairies being painted so artificially
And unflinching obisience to the progress,
Skirting all whispers uncomfortable for ears
And stoutly stomach all dampers before they dump ye.