The gleaming head of one fine friend
Is bent above my little song,
So through the treasure-pits of Heaven
In fancys shoes, I march along.
I wander, seek and peer and ponder
In Splendors last ensnaring lair
Mid burnished harps and burnished crowns
Where noble chariots gleam and flare:
Amid the spirit-coins and gems,
The plates and cups and helms of fire
The gorgeous-treasure-pits of Heaven
Where angel-misers slake desire!
O endless treasure-pits of gold
Where silly angel-men make mirth
I think that I am there this hour,
Though walking in the ways of earth!
