Poems with rhymes of girt

Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt,
And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt,

With chain of gold his belly's girt,
His beard is barber trim;
Yet bristle-chinned with ragged shirt,

In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt
Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt

Within the House of Mammon his priesthood stands alert,
By mysteries attended, by dusk and splendors girt,

With every rainbow still unhurt
From leaflet unto leaflet girt.

Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt,
And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt;

Which sees not, hears not, feels not, yet is girt
With sound and light and sense; which seeming dead
Drinks in Earth's life in cure of every hurt

'Well, I want--I want something to fill out the skirt
To the proper dimensions, without being girt

Eat hasty bread standing with loins up-girt,
How shall this stead thy feet for their sore way?
Ah, Song, what brief embraces balm thy hurt!