"What do you gather?" the miser said,
Clinking his gold, as he spoke to me--
"I cannot sleep at night for dread
Of thieves," said he.

"What do you gather?" the dreamer said,
"I dream dreams of what is to be;
Daylight comes, and my dreams are fled,
Ah! woe is me."

"What do you gather?" the young man said--
"I seek fame for eternity,
Toiling on while the world's abed,
Alone," said he.

"What do I gather?" I laughing said,
"Nothing at all save memory,
Sweet as flowers, but never dead,
Like thine, Rosie."

"I have no fear of thieves," I said,
"Daylight kills not my reverie,
Fame will find I am snug abed,
That comes to me."

"The past is my treasure, friends," I said,
"Time but adds to my treasury,
Happy moments are never fled
Away from me."