Remonstrance
As often as I have been told
To disesteem the shining gold
In favor of a wayward star
That burns to tell us what we are;
And since my dust no less refined
Than darker ore as yet unmined
Will be assayed its final worth
Long after the compulsive earth
Has it immured, I think it may
Not be impertinent to say
The heart needs stars to live secure
And a little gold to keep it pure!
