In childhood's fairy hour I watched a bow
The Titian Sun had painted in the skies,
And marveled at its wondrous hues and dyes
And held my breath in silence at its glow;
“The hand of God,” I cried, “Divine, I know!”
And at the thought the tears stood in my eyes.
But when I heard that awful pack of lies
About the pot of gold, I said, “‘ S that so!”