Bids him remember all the hope he had     

       In spacious days, before Lorenzo died . . .     

  

       It seems Lorenzo's soul crept back to earth     

       Re-seeking Joy he coveted in life,     

       Seeking the happiness he never found.     

       Yet, was his labour lost? Did he not find?     

       He sang one song which lingers in men's hearts     

       And, having sung, he surely solved his quest.     

       Who of Joy's seekers finds the flower itself,     

       And plucking, knows the snow-white from the red?     

       Not I, for I've been truant in my search;     

       I've pluck't the mauve of Honour and the green     

       Of cloistered Knowledge, yellow of Romance,     

       The blue which feigns a deep Tranquillity,     

       Scarlet of Boldness, purple of Despair,     

       Orange of Idleness which flaunts the sun,     

       And indigo of wizard Heresy—     

       And gray which gives to Weariness unrest.     

       Perchance I've clutched within this eager hand     

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