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TO ------
Read again thy prize-paid, sneakingFlattery of the basely mean?
Who wins prize, but he that's reeking
With the taint of souls unclean?
Shall I, on my kind's prostration
Waste the hour that should be bless'd?
Hoarded for mute conversation
With the best thoughts of the best!
If my trust in man is shaken,
By thy trust in wrong-divine,
Vilely is thy greed mistaken
In this gold-edg'd gift of thine.
39
To my forehead.—When wilt thou
Pay me for these burning blushes,
And the heart's pang on my brow?
Criticise thee? Let them praise thee
Who praise turncoats, turn'd anew.
None could lower, and I can't raise thee;
Turncoat Yellow! Turncoat Blue!
Backward go to worse from better
They alone whom badness feeds:
Steal ye fire, to forge a fetter?
Roses would ye turn to weeds?
Sloe to plum improv'd not rashly:
Time bears blessings on his flood!
Honour, then, thy go-back Ashley,
While we grow the greatest good.
Lives in every leaf and blossom
Might that mocks Romanzoff's power:
Worship thou his barren bosom!
I will tend my little flower.
Spite of thee, on this I anchor:
Man by Man shall still be bless'd!
Man, and Man's! till strife and rancour
Sink, in love, to endless rest.
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