Who may with the shrewd Hours strive?

Too thrifty dealers they,

That with the one hand blandly give,

With the other take away,

With here and there some falling flake,

Some dust of gold, between

The hands that give and hands that take

Slipped noiseless and unseen.

Ah, comedy of bargainings,

Whose gain of years is found

A little silt of golden things

Forgotten on the ground!