To him who strolled round ancient gates,
in darkness, sun or rain he waits.
Standing with ambition ready to serve,
with his ever ready phrase to calm his nerve. ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!