Sonnets from a Lock Box I

How nonchalantly I spend with little thrift His proud sparse earnings which were the frugal pay Of a man’s stout will and honorable day. What insolent spending of that sturdy gift! When I reflect on him he seems like one Who on a bleak hill set a lonely pine. He saw the North Star in its branches shine. His honest valors are by me undone.

Why I should own his box I cannot see. For his scant legacy I am unfit. Yet since he’s in the yard I have his key, And somehow I am master over it. I am like one who decks the Holy Tree With tinsel shapes; then casts it in the pit.