XXXVIII.—PASSION AND REASON.
I
Let
Astrapé forbear to blaze,
As lightning does, with dreadful rays,
Nor spoil the beauties of her face,
To arm her tongue with thunder:
That reason hardly looks divine,
Where so much fire and sound combine,
And make the way for wit to shine
By riving sense asunder.
II
Yet if I found her words grow warm,
I'd learn some lesson by the storm,
Or guard myself at least from harm
By yielding, like Tranquillus.
Tempests will tear the stiffest oak,
Cedars with all their pride are broke
Beneath the fury of that stroke
That never hurts the willows.
