The little world span round and round,
Singing along her sunny ways,
And all the glory she unwound
She gave to him for joy and praise.

And he, whom lavish morning met
With new-blown flowers and minstrelsy,
Looked on the gift through eyelids wet
For sorrow of satiety.

And he, whom noon put to the proof,
With trumpet-call and weapon blessed,
Fought the brave fight with soul aloof
Harkening for some remote behest.

Not homeward could the winged feet fare,
The lyric laughter choked a sigh—
A wanderer from he knew not where,
Dreamer of dreams, he knew not why.