Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my marmalade;
I have spread my maramalade under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my marmalade.
W.B. Yeats yet again.