Proudly he says, “My word is now my bond,”
And coins the yellow dross with Gentian’s wand.
The holy man, by church ordained a priest,
In dreams partaketh of the merry feast,
And sparkling glances when the hour is late
Make roguish havoc with the celibate.
“Avaunt!” he cries, “such joys are not for me.”
And wakes in prayer upon his bended knee.
The scientist retires with addled brain
To dream his fretful genius o’er again,