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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
394
IV. SELF-DECEPTION.
Like mist it tracks us wheresoe'er we go,Like air bends with us ever as we bend;
And, as the shades at noontide darkest grow,
At times with Virtue's growth its snares ascend:
Weakness with wisdom skilled it is to blend,
Breed baser life from buried sins laid low,
Make void our world of God and good, yet lend
The spirit's waste a paradisal glow.
O happy children simple even in wiles!
And ye of single eye, thrice happy Poor!
Practised self-love, that cheat which slays with smiles,
Weaves not for you the inevitable lure.
Men live a lie: specious their latest breath:
Welcome, delusion-slayer, truthful Death!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |