 | Poems |  |
212
CCXXXV
[Therefore I wrote it, not that men should buy—]
Therefore I wrote it, not that men should buy—
I care not, I, to sell my soul for bread.
The craving senses must themselves be dead
Before the soul in such extremes could die.
I care not, I, to sell my soul for bread.
The craving senses must themselves be dead
Before the soul in such extremes could die.
Therefore I wrote it, not that men should cry,
“This is well thought of!” “This is bravely said!”
For flattery's poison is a thing to dread
More than the steel-tipped shafts of enmity.
“This is well thought of!” “This is bravely said!”
For flattery's poison is a thing to dread
More than the steel-tipped shafts of enmity.
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