"Tilth, waste and water, sand and sap,
Tare, thorn and thistle, wine and oil,
Run through your Nature like a map,
Are You. The ores that vein the soil
Of time and substance manifold
Await the hour that makes them gold,
"That found the force of you dispersed
On all adventure save a quest,
And part perhaps was on the worst.
It sent you all upon the best,