Whose tale the heedless hours repeat.

Two stems entwined to part and greet,

From one root springing, bitter-sweet

With flower and fruitage, seed to strew,

The Old and New.

Since, serpent-twined, their knowledge knew

The heart of man, between the two,

With clinging hands and winged feet

He stands the sport of Time’s deceit,

The parti-coloured shield in view—