Oppressed by all the cares of earth
His secret cisterns of rich mirth.
His dreams were laid aside, perforce,
(His trade? Newspaper man, of course!)
What ingots of the heart and mind
Beneath the rasping daily grind.
For fear his soul be wholly lost,
To call soul back, at any cost!
Undrugged by caution and control,
The virtued passion of his soul!