Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/339

Rh In token of the grateful memory Wherein I hold his guidance of my mind Up the steep paths of art.
 * [While speaks,  slowly gains consciousness of his situation, raises his hand to his head, and shudders violently.  last words seem to awaken him thoroughly.

I crave your pardon If I have answered roughly, Sir Lorenzo. My thoughts were far away I failed to know you I have had trouble, sir. You do remind me, I had forgot my hat; that is a trifle, Yet now I feel the loss. What slaves are we To circumstance! One who is wont to cover For fashion or for warmth his pate, goes forth Bareheaded, and the sun will seem to smite The shrinking spot, the breeze will make him shiver, And yet our hatless beggars heed them not. We are the fools of habit.

Pray you, sir, Let me conduct you home. Here is no place