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 REALITIES

Greed if thou hast, thou art of sin secure: Being treacherous, of what heinous fault hast need? No distant temple wants whose soul is pure: Heart’s truth is more than penance, vow or creed. With natural goodness, why mere virtues pile? The soul being great, a royal crown were poor; Good books thou hast, rubies were surplus vile; When shame has pierced the heart, can death do more?

SEVEN GRIEFS

Seven griefs are as seven daggers in my heart,— To see a lake without its lilied bloom, The moon grow beggared of her radiant part, Sweet woman’s beauty fade towards the tomb, A noble hug his wealth, a good man gone Down in the press of miseries, a fair And vacant face when knowledge is not there, A base man standing by a monarch’s throne.

THE FRIENDSHIP OF TYRANTS

Tyrants have neither kin nor lover. Fire Accepts the rich man’s offerings; at the end Shall these then slake its wrathful swift desire? Nay, let him touch it! It will spare its friend!