In Praise Of Gloriana's Remarkable Golden Hair

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!