The gleaming head of one fine friend
Is bent above my little song,
So through the treasure-pits of Heaven
In fancy's shoes, I march along.
I wander, seek and peer and ponder
In Splendor's last ensnaring lair -
'Mid burnished harps and burnished crowns
Where noble chariots gleam and flare:
Amid the spirit-coins and gems,
The plates and cups and helms of fire -
The gorgeous-treasure-pits of Heaven -
Where angel-misers slake desire!
O endless treasure-pits of gold
Where silly angel-men make mirth -
I think that I am there this hour,
Though walking in the ways of earth!