And if the creature moils and toils
What is it to this song?
This is a song of silver spoils,
Caught swinging along.

Last night I walked the city street,
Wearing a woman's veil.
Then there was laughter; then there were feet;
Then there was silver hail

And harps and shaking silver bells
And flutes within my brain;
I stood beside deep silver wells;
I said, "We rise again!"

Love, let no light moon ever rise
Until my joy has risen!
I could not suffer heaven's surprise,
Finding me in prison!

Mirth, let no mad moon ever sweep
Heaven, nor find my floor
Swept where I have leaped from sleep
And danced before the door!

Light, let no white moon hunt through heaven
Till I am hunting too!
When the silver bow is given
My thoughts are arrows true,

And when she stalks the starry plains
To fill her silver bowl,
I laugh in narrow lamplit lanes,
A silver sallying soul!

Huntress, huntress, hold it high,
Your globe of silver fire,
And I will draw and pierce the sky
And lift a star from the mire!

And if my hand be stained by the dye
Wherein all day it toils,
Still I come home beneath the sky
Bearing silver spoils.

You did not guess me, swinging along?
But if me my toil had tamed,
I could not tell you in a song,
For I should be ashamed!

Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing,
Lords in ermine, beggars freezing;
Titled gluttons dainties carving,
Genius in a garret starving.

Lofty mansions, warm and spacious;
Courtiers cringing and voracious;
Misers scarce the wretched heeding;
Gallant soldiers fighting, bleeding.

Wives who laugh at passive spouses;
Theatres, and meeting-houses;
Balls, where simp’ring misses languish;
Hospitals, and groans of anguish.

Arts and sciences bewailing;
Commerce drooping, credit failing;
Placemen mocking subjects loyal;
Separations, weddings royal.

Authors who can’t earn a dinner;
Many a subtle rogue a winner;
Fugitives for shelter seeking;
Misers hoarding, tradesmen breaking.

Taste and talents quite deserted;
All the laws of truth perverted;
Arrogance o’er merit soaring;
Merit silently deploring.

Ladies gambling night and morning;
Fools the works of genius scorning;
Ancient dames for girls mistaken,
Youthful damsels quite forsaken.

Some in luxury delighting;
More in talking than in fighting;
Lovers old, and beaux decrepid;
Lordlings empty and insipid.

Poets, painters, and musicians;
Lawyers, doctors, politicians:
Pamphlets, newspapers, and odes,
Seeking fame by diff’rent roads.

Gallant souls with empty purses;
Gen’rals only fit for nurses;
School-boys, smit with martial spirit,
Taking place of vet’ran merit.

Honest men who can’t get places,
Knaves who shew unblushing faces;
Ruin hasten’d, peace retarded;
Candor spurn’d, and art rewarded.