One day by chance,
I taxing all my student’s store of wit
With thought of is and is not, good and bad,
And fondly dreaming that my fingers soon
Would close upon the key of heaven and earth,
I met my master in a garden walk,
Musing as was his wont, I knew not what,
Perhaps some better mode of marshalling
Those daily soldiers of the conquering years,
Perchance some subtler science which the stars