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To a Friend whose work has come to nothing
| Now all the truth is out, | | Be secret and take defeat | | From any brazen throat, | | For how can you compete, | | Being honour bred, with one | | Who, were it proved he lies, | | Were neither shamed in his own | | Nor in his
neighbours’ eyes? | | Bred to a harder thing | | Than Triumph, turn away | | And like a laughing string | | Whereon
mad fingers play | | Amid a place of stone, | | Be secret and exult, | | Because of all things known | | That is most
difficult. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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