For money is sullen And wisdom is sly, But youth is the pollen That blows through the sky And does not ask why.

O wisdom and money How can you requite The honey of honey That flies in that flight? The useless delight?

So, with his back against a tree, he stared At the pure, golden feathers in the West Until the sunset flowed into his heart Like a slow wave of honeydropping dew Murmuring from the other side of Sleep. There was a fairy hush Everywhere. Even the setter at his feet Lay there as if the twilight had bewitched His russet paws into two russet leaves, A dog of russet leaves who did not stir a hair.