There came an officer knocking by night at my door

In a loud voice demanding grain-tribute.

My house-servants dared not wait till the morning,

But brought candles and set them on the barn-floor.

Passed through the sieve, clean-washed as pearls,

A whole cart-load, thirty bushels of grain.

But still they cry that it is not paid in full:

With whips and curses they goad my servants and boys.

Once, in error, I entered public life;

I am inwardly ashamed that my talents were not sufficient.

In succession I occupied four official posts;

For doing nothing—ten years’ salary!

Often have I heard that saying of ancient men

That “good and ill follow in an endless chain.”

And to-day it ought to set my heart at rest

To return to others the corn in my great barn.