THE THREE HERMITS
 
 THREE old hermits took the air
 By a cold and desolate sea,
 First was muttering a prayer,
 Second rummaged for a flea;
 On a windy stone, the third,
 Giddy with his hundredth year,
 Sang unnoticed like a bird:
 "Though the Door of Death is near
 And what waits behind the door,
 Three times in a single day
 I, though upright on the shore,
 Fall asleep when I should pray.'
 So the first, but now the second:
 "We're but given what we have eamed
 When all thoughts and deeds are reckoned,
 So it's plain to be discerned
 That the shades of holy men
 Who have failed, being weak of will,
 Pass the Door of Birth again,
 And are plagued by crowds, until
 They've the passion to escape."
 Moaned the other, "They are thrown
 Into some most fearful shape.'
 But the second mocked his moan:
 "They are not changed to anything,
 Having loved God once, but maybe
 To a poet or a king
 Or a witty lovely lady."
 While he'd rummaged rags and hair,
 Caught and cracked his flea, the third,
 Giddy with his hundredth year,
 Sang unnoticed like a bird.