What is wealth? I asked of the fluttering flame,
and he whispered, Dry timber to eat.
Where is peace? I asked of the guttering rain,
and she sang, In the Lethean deep.
And fate? I asked of the westerly gale.
Who will steer with the helmsman aslumber?
Whoever, he howled, will hold fast the sail,
lest my patronage break him asunder.
But birth? I asked of the emerald field.
Does the clash of our ranks rend you fallow?
The Mother, she sighed, knows not but to yield.
She blooms amidst manger and gallows.