 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
191
WORTHY.
Rather be thou my counsellor and friend,Good man tho' poor, whose treasure with thy heart
Is stored and set upon that better part,
Choice of thy wisdom, without waste or end:
How cheerful is thy face, how glad thou art!
Using the world with all its bounteous store
Of richest blessings, comforts, loves, and joys,
Which thine all-healthy hunger prizeth more
Than the gorged fool whom sinful surfeit cloys;
Still, not forgetful of thy nobler self,
The breath divine within thee,—but with care
Cherishing the faint spark that glimmereth there,
Nor by Brazilian slavery to pelf
Plunging thy taper into poison'd air.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |