But who will prize life over-much
Or deem that death comes over-soon
If hands of fools and barterers touch
The architrave of Hope half-hewn!
Under a brave new baldachin,
New robes drooped o'er their crimson feet,
The old unaltered twain begin
Their ride along the embannered street;
With golden charms for men to kiss
A-swing from wrist and bridle-rein,