Said the Youth,

"We seek you, meek old barn, dear friend,

Your oaken walls which bar the rain.

Quiet giant, stiff, reliant,

Shield our souls from heaven's riot.

Let us cower from the pain."

Said the Fisherman,

"My piebald loyalty to thee

Which I had sacrificed for Sea,

Now betrays my final hour

By waves my netted feather tower

Muffles in eternity."

Said the King

"Between my foretold, fatty folds

Which gather grub of peasants' mold,

I hold no bold, beloved feeling

For your shabby shambled ceiling.

Glory death, now guinea gold.

Said the Musician,

"This pounding rain, resounding gong

Pleads melodies to speed along

Let free, Lord Nature's noble Fury

Judge this motely trial by jury.

To you I dedicate this song.