son poem

i said, i have shut my heart
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
it tells of good old times
with joy and wonder
lived by the river-side
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
simplicity
what shall we do now
what do i owe to you
no prey am i of poor thoughts
very well, you liberals