If we take all gold 
And put all gold by, 
Lay by the treasure 
In the shelved earth's crevice, 
Under, under the deepest, 
Store sorrow's gold: 
That which we thought precious 
And guarded even in sleep 
Under the miserly pillow, 
If it be hid away 
Lost under dark heaped ground, 
Then shall we have peace, 
Sorrow's gold being taken 
From out the clean house, 
From the rifled coffers put by.