what can i give thee back, o liberal

and princely giver, who hast brought the gold

and purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,

and laid them on the outside of the wall

for such as i to take or leave withal,

in unexpected largesse? am i cold,

ungrateful, that for these most manifold

high gifts, i render nothing back at all?

not so; not cold,—but very poor instead.

ask god who knows. for frequent tears have run

the colours from my life, and left so dead

and pale a stuff, it were not fitly done

to give the same as pillow to thy head.

go farther! let it serve to trample on.