II

The world, thou hast heard it told,

      Has counted its robber-gold,

      And the pieces stick to the hand.

      The world goes riding it fair and grand,

            While the truth is bought and sold!

      World-voice east, world-voices west,

      They call thee, Heart, from thine early rest,

"Come hither, come hither and be our guest."

                        Heart, wilt thou go?

                              —"No, no!

                  Good hearts are calmer so."