Unencumbered by the oaths of the republic we did not jest, we merely dined after reaping what we’d sewn;
wrath’s suits made of linens and velvet silks.
We made no brash decisions in our guardianship of the loom;
as carpenters and sculptors looking upon what we’d hewn, the sawdust in stuffing for the gifts we’d bear to offer in due time-
nothing could be waste of the mourning forester’s werk.