Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/204

186 Not the profusion man may bring, Prevaileth with our Lord and King. The long days out of minutes grow. And out of months the years arise, Wilt thou be master of the wise, Then learn the hidden stream to know, That from the inmost heart doth flow.

" tears thy grief thou dost bemoan. Tears that would melt the hardest stone, Oh, wherefore sing'st thou not the vine ? Why chant'st thou not the praise of wine ? It chases pain with cunning art. The craven slinks from out thy heart." But I : Poor fools the wine may cheat, Lull them with lying visions sweet. Upon the wings of storms may bear