 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
71
A PORTRAIT.
There he goes, as you say, like a madman!—
His clothes all awry,
And a fine lofty scorn for things human
In forehead and eye.
His clothes all awry,
And a fine lofty scorn for things human
In forehead and eye.
Poor man that scarce owns an acquaintance!
If he had but a friend
Just to tell him straight out in one sentence
How matters will end!
If he had but a friend
Just to tell him straight out in one sentence
How matters will end!
When body and mind have gone mouldy,
'Twere something to say
“There now, you would have it; I told ye;
You would not obey:
'Twere something to say
“There now, you would have it; I told ye;
You would not obey:
72
What fruit ever came of such dreaming,
But despondence and fear?”—
Hark now! better hush this blaspheming,
Lest an angel should hear.
But despondence and fear?”—
Hark now! better hush this blaspheming,
Lest an angel should hear.
Poor man?—Aye indeed, for his mortal
Is quench'd in divine:
Meanly clad?—but may be at Death's portal
His raiment will shine.
Is quench'd in divine:
Meanly clad?—but may be at Death's portal
His raiment will shine.
Scornful-eyed?—Why that eye pierces thorough
Both your slanders and you:
Sad?—Yes, for he knows of the sorrow
God gives unto few.
Both your slanders and you:
Sad?—Yes, for he knows of the sorrow
God gives unto few.
There he goes, as you say, but no fool he,
With One for his friend;
And I fancy He knows somewhat truly
‘How matters will end.’
With One for his friend;
And I fancy He knows somewhat truly
‘How matters will end.’
| Poems by James Rhoades | |