Ever the Poet _from_ the land
Steers his bark and trims his sail;
Right out to sea his courses stand,
New worlds to find in pinnace frail.



POET

To clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.



BOTANIST

Go thou to thy learned task,
I stay with the flowers of Spring:
Do thou of the Ages ask
What me the Hours will bring.



GARDENER

True Brahmin, in the morning meadows wet,
Expound the Vedas of the violet,