Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness —

And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

XII

“How sweet is mortal Sovranty!”— think some:

Others —“How blest the Paradise to come!”

Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;

Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!

XIII

Look to the Rose that blows about us —“Lo,

“Laughing,” she says, “into the World I blow:

“At once the silken Tassel of my Purse

“Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.”

XIV

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face

Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone.