When that tough foe was at his feet—
Found in the stump no angel-cake
Nor buttered bread, no cheese, nor meat—
The forest-roof let in the sky.
“This light is worth the work,” said he.
“I’ll make this ancient swamp more light”—
And started on another tree!
The Sword-Pen of the Rhymer
I’ll haunt this town, though gone the maids and men
The darling few, my friends and loves today.