Those are men! Without, unseemly in their wooden garb, Within, they are more beautiful and brilliant Than all the haughty Levites of the Temple, And the guards and courtiers of Herod, Decked with gold and arrayed in purple. But I have always averred That not amidst quite common folk-- No, in the very best society, Perpetually abides the King of Heaven. Hallelujah! How lovely around me Wave the palms of Beth-El! How fragrant are the myrrh-trees of Hebron! How the Jordan rustles and reels with joy! And my immortal soul also reels, And I reel with her, and, reeling, The worthy host of the town-cellar of Bremen Leads me up-stairs into the light of day. Thou worthy host of the town-cellar of Bremen, Seest thou on the roofs of the houses, Sit the angels, and they are drunk and they sing. The glowing sun up yonder Is naught but a red drunken nose. The nose of the spirit of the universe, And around the red nose of the spirit of the universe Reels the whole tipsy world. XI. EPILOGUE. Like the stalks of wheat in the fields, So flourish and wave in the mind of man His thoughts. But the delicate fancies of love Are like gay little intermingled blossoms Of red and blue flowers. Red and blue flowers! The surly reaper rejects you as useless. The wooden flail scornfully thrashes you, Even the luckless traveler, Whom your aspect delights and refreshes, Shakes his head, And calls you beautiful weeds. But the rustic maiden, The wearer of garlands, Honors you, and plucks you, And adorns with you her fair locks. And thus decorated she hastens to the dancing-green Where the flutes and fiddles sweetly resound; Or to the quiet bushes Where the voice of her beloved soundeth sweeter still Than fiddles or flutes.