Guy

Mortal mixed of middle clay,     Attempered to the night and day,     Interchangeable with things,     Needs no amulets nor rings.     Guy possessed the talisman     That all things from him began;     And as, of old, Polycrates     Chained the sunshine and the breeze,     So did Guy betimes discover     Fortune was his guard and lover;     In strange junctures, felt, with awe,     His own symmetry with law;     That no mixture could withstand     The virtue of his lucky hand.     He gold or jewel could not lose,     Nor not receive his ample dues.     Fearless Guy had never foes,     He did their weapons decompose.     Aimed at him, the blushing blade     Healed as fast the wounds it made.     If on the foeman fell his gaze,     Him it would straightway blind or craze,     In the street, if he turned round,     His eye the eye 't was seeking found.     It seemed his Genius discreet     Worked on the Maker's own receipt,     And made each tide and element     Stewards of stipend and of rent;     So that the common waters fell     As costly wine into his well.     He had so sped his wise affairs     That he caught Nature in his snares.     Early or late, the falling rain     Arrived in time to swell his grain;     Stream could not so perversely wind     But corn of Guy's was there to grind:     The siroc found it on its way,     To speed his sails, to dry his hay;     And the world's sun seemed to rise     To drudge all day for Guy the wise.     In his rich nurseries, timely skill     Strong crab with nobler blood did fill;     The zephyr in his garden rolled     From plum-trees vegetable gold;     And all the hours of the year     With their own harvest honored were.     There was no frost but welcome came,     Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame.     Belonged to wind and world the toil     And venture, and to Guy the oil.