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!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
