IV.

That day, the earth’s feast-master’s brow Shall clear, to God the chalice raising; “Others give best at first, but Thou Forever set’st our table praising, Keep’st the good wine till now!”

Meantime, I’ll draw you as you stand, With few or none to watch and wonder: I’ll say--a fisher, on the sand By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder, A netful, brought to land.

Who has not heard how Tyrian shells Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes Whereof one drop worked miracles, And colored like Astarte’s eyes Raw silk the merchant sells?