Day! Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last; Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim.

What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no?

Reads verse and thinks she understands.

Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, / Meted on each side by the angel's reed, / For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me / To cover.

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.