I know a lad with sun-illumined eyes,

Whose constant heaven is fleckless of a cloud;

He treads the earth with heavy steps and proud,

As if the gods had given him for a prize

Its beauty and its strength. What money buys

Is his; and his the reverence unavowed

Of toiling men for men who never bowed

Their backs to any burden anywise.

And if you talk of pain, of doubt, of ill,

He smiles and shakes his head, as who should say,

“The thing is black, or white, or what you will:

Let Folly rule, or Wisdom: any way

I am the dog for whom this merry day

Was made, and I enjoy it”. That is Bill.