The hiding of these fleeting gifts!
And she gives measure to the same thought in this:
Waft ye through the world sunlight;
Throw ye to the sparrows grain
That runneth o’er the heaping measure.
Scatter flower petals, like the wings
Of fluttering butterflies, to streak
The dove-gray day with daisy gold,
And turn the silver mist to fleece of gold.
Hath the king a noble who is such