Page:Poems and lyrics of the joy of earth.djvu/30

Rh Oft has he been riven; slain Is no force in Westermain. Wait, and we shall forge him curbs, Put his fangs to uses, tame, Teach him, quick as cunning herbs, How to cure him sick and lame. Much restricted, much enringed, Much he frets, the hooked and winged,
 * Never known to spare.

'Tis enough: the name of Sage Hits no thing in nature, nought; Man the least, save when grave Age From yon Dragon guards his thought. Eye him when you hearken dumb To what words from Wisdom come. When she says how few are by Listening to her, eye his eye. Him shall Change, transforming late, Wonderously renovate.