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146
THE HOUR-GLASS
Before the sands have fallen, that still believes,
One fish to lie and spawn among the stones
Till the great fisher's net is full again,
You may, the purgatorial fire being
Spring to your peace.
[Pupils sing in the distance.
'Who stole your wits away
And where are they gone?'
Wise Man
My pupils come,
Before you have begun to climb the sky
I shall have found that soul. They say they doubt,
But what their mothers dinned into their ears
Cannot have been so lightly rooted up;
Besides, I can disprove what I once proved—
