The climbing rose upon the tree Is symbol enough for me; That chaliced eye weeping blood, Proponent of diviner love. All the glory my old age needs A fisher-girl provides. What care I if angels, angels shove? Love's a lump of sodden clay. I am content with what I can catch And let the others pass. Old hearts and broken kettles sigh, Love's a sodden lump of clay. What care I for the spite of time That makes the humble bite their tongues Or loftier spirits trudge Through burning lime? The climbing rose upon the tree Is symbol enough for me.