|Build in love’s empire your hearth and your home;|
Build Time anew, a new dawn, a new eve!
Your speech, if God give you the friendship of Nature,
From the rose and tulip’s long silence weave.
No gifts of the Franks’ clever glass-bowers ask!
From India’s own clay mould your cup and your flask.
My songs are the grapes on the spray of my vine;
Distil from their clusters the poppy-red wine!
The way of the hermit, not fortune, is mine;
Sell not your soul! In a beggar’s rags shine.