Lion of the greenest eyes,
Lay thee within the earth or o’er us in glittering starry skies?
Whither does thy roar resound that great men seek, yet none hath found?
Thy mane of glittering, taunting gold, an’ pelt of silver that neigh perfection doth enfold.
Mercury runs from thy fanged maw, to call, a trail, a path to draw.
Out from dust and unto the sun an’ by the circle moon tis begun.
Whither now? Which the way?
Onward and unto perfection, so tempting the soul’s defection.
Slumber yet, great and lordly host, thy touch is yet unsuited for all and most.