Not such your burden, happy youths, as ours--
Poor women-children nurtured daintily--
For ye have comrades when ill-fortune lours,
To hearten you with talk and company;
And ye have games for solace, and may roam
Along the streets and see the painters' shows.
But woe betide us if we stir from home--
And there our thoughts are dull enough, God knows!
