RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE

                        Prelude

          I sing no idle songs of dalliance days,
          No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming;
          I have no Celia to enchant my lays,
          No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming.
          I am no wordsmith dripping gems divine
          Into the golden chalice of a sonnet;
          If love songs witch you, close this book of mine,
              Waste no time on it.

          Yet bring I to my work an eager joy,
          A lusty love of life and all things human;
          Still in me leaps the wonder of the boy,
          A pride in man, a deathless faith in woman.
          Still red blood calls, still rings the valiant fray;
          Adventure beacons through the summer gloaming:
          Oh long and long and long will be the day
              Ere I come homing!

          This earth is ours to love:  lute, brush and pen,
          They are but tongues to tell of life sincerely;
          The thaumaturgic Day, the might of men,
          O God of Scribes, grant us to grave them clearly!
          Grant heart that homes in heart, then all is well.
          Honey is honey-sweet, howe'er the hiving.
          Each to his work, his wage at evening bell
              The strength of striving.