 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
48
CONFUCIUS.
For thou art worthy, Seric Socrates,Of the bright robe, and that fair coronet,
Meed of true goodness, on thy forehead set,
Worthy to walk in equal bliss with these
Thy peers, in Hades' dreamy valley met;
For thine were pure and patriot services,
High worth, and generous love of doing good,
Gilding the darkness of a barbarous clime
That paid thee wages of ingratitude,
After the Balaam cunning of a foe
Had drown'd thine efforts in adulterous crime,
For righteous weal exchanging sinful woe:
Witness, ye spirits of the good and wise,
None recks of greatness till the great man dies!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |