The poem
TO live within a cave--it is most good; But, if God make a day, And some one come, and say, 'Lo! I have gather'd faggots in the wood!' E'en let him stay, And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood!
So sit till morning! when the light is grown That he the path can read, Then bid the man God-speed! His morning is not thine: yet must thou own They have a cheerful warmth--those ashes on the stone.