“I then crept back into my bed;
I tried, I begged, I prayed to sleep;
But those red, restless coins would keep
Slow dropping, dropping, and blood red.
“I heard them clink and clink and clink,—
They turned, they talked within that grate.
They talked of her; they made me think
Of one who still must pray and wait.
“And when the bags burned crisp and black,
Two coins did start, roll to the floor,—
Roll out, roll on, and then roll back,
As if they needs must journey more.
“Ah, then I knew nor change nor space,
Nor all the drowning years that rolled
Could hide from me her haunting face,
Nor still that red-tongued talking gold.
“Again I sprang forth from my bed!
I shook as in an ague fit;
I clutched that red gold, burning red,
I clutched, as if to strangle it.
“I clutched it up—you hear me, boy?—
I clutched it up with joyful tears!
I clutched it close, with such wild joy
I had not felt for years and years!
“Such joy! for I should now retrace
My steps, should see my land, her face;
Bring back her gold this battle day,
And see her, see her, hear her pray!
“I brought it back—you hear me, boy?—
I clutch it, hold it, hold it now:
Red gold, bright gold that giveth joy
To all, and anywhere or how;
“That giveth joy to all but me,—
To all but me, yet soon to all.
It burns my hands, it burns! but she
Shall ope my hands and let it fall.
“For oh I have a willing hand
To give these bags of gold; to see
Her smile as once she smiled on me
Here in this pleasant, warm palm-land!”