A man had three sons


The first was quick as tempered steel,

Bright-eyed springing to mischief;

Sudden to feel

The blade of grief.




The next was weighted with delight

As a fruitful apple bough,

Eyes to joy bright,

Crowned gold with laughter the brow.




The third lay soft as May bloom

Sleeping within the sunlit room.




A man had three sons



The first in kingdoms of the word

Leaping eagerly to fight,

Took his sword

To pierce the blind world with light.




The second compelled the dark earth

Before his joy to yield,

Bringing to birth

A golden summer field.




Within a woman's arms, the third

Dreamt love the only golden word.








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