Bide by the fluted iron walls
  Take ye a serving wench to wife;
Drown in the pot the bugle's calls,
  Trade your spear for a peddler's knife.
  Turn to the vendor's paltry strife,
  Gird ye round with doors and bars
  Safely snore in the lap of Life—
  I must follow the restless stars.

Wait at the doors of your master's halls
  —For the faithful server, boards are rife—
Make no oath when the whip-lash falls—
  Hark to the counsel of your wife;
  Trade your harp for a peddler's fife.
  But gods, the spray and the plunging spars!
Here is my heart—in the heart of Life
  And I must follow the restless stars

  Envoi
King, there are stallions in golden stalls,
  But bars of sapphire are only bars!
Bide in peace in the high safe halls—
  I must follow the restless stars.