Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/167

Rh Gladly round that golden lamp

Sylvan deities encamp,

And simple maids and noble youth

Are welcome to the man of truth.

Most welcome they who need him most,

They feed the spring which they exhaust;

For greater need

Draws better deed:

But, critic, spare thy vanity,

Nor show thy pompous parts,

To vex with odious subtlety

The cheerer of men's hearts.

Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say

Endless dirges to decay,

Never in the blaze of light

Lose the shudder of midnight;

Pale at overflowing noon

Hear wolves barking at the moon;

In the bower of dalliance sweet

Hear the far Avenger's feet:

And shake before those awful Powers,

Who in their pride forgive not ours.

Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach:

Bard, when thee would Allah teach,

And lift thee to his holy mount,

He sends thee from his bitter fount

Wormwood,—saying, "Go thy ways;

Drink not the Malaga of praise,