Which solaced oft my sorrow-burdened soul;
But leavest not the biding, crowning palm,
Nor faultless portion, pointing to thy goal;
While troubles roll.
Why, when a-thirst and hungry, should I wander,
Some while in want; anon, a feast most fine?
Yet never full; some pressing, ravenous pander
Prepared to steal from me earth’s passing wine;
Pray give me thine.
Some secrets sweet are mine, but oh how few,