 | Madeline |  |
268
LVI. ON CUNNING.
Pray on, poor idiot, preach thy bill of fare,
With gaping mouth and hollow moan!
Thine eyes have cunning in their stare;
Thy voice the beggar's groan.
Can it be true that grace divine
Sits on a soul so false as thine?
With gaping mouth and hollow moan!
Thine eyes have cunning in their stare;
Thy voice the beggar's groan.
Can it be true that grace divine
Sits on a soul so false as thine?
For, idiot, in thy grace attired,
Thy features speak it not,
As if, with all thou hadst acquired,
Thy visage were forgot.
Eyes with a stealth that wins a bet,
Lips to a form of worship set.
Thy features speak it not,
As if, with all thou hadst acquired,
Thy visage were forgot.
Eyes with a stealth that wins a bet,
Lips to a form of worship set.
| Madeline | |