To the Contended

Bide by the fluted iron walls Take ye a serving wench to wife; Drown in the pot the bugle's calls, Trade your spear for a peddler's knife. Turn to the vendor's paltry strife, Gird ye round with doors and bars Safely snore in the lap of Life— I must follow the restless stars.

Wait at the doors of your master's halls —For the faithful server, boards are rife— Make no oath when the whip-lash falls— Hark to the counsel of your wife; Trade your harp for a peddler's fife. But gods, the spray and the plunging spars! Here is my heart—in the heart of Life And I must follow the restless stars

Envoi King, there are stallions in golden stalls, But bars of sapphire are only bars! Bide in peace in the high safe halls— I must follow the restless stars.