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19
TO ———.
Clearheaded friend, whose joyful scorn,
Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain
The knotted lies of human creeds,
The wounding cords which bind and strain
The heart until it bleeds,
Rayfringéd eyelids of the morn
Roof not a glance so keen as thine:
If aught of prophecy be mine,
Thou wilt not live in vain.
Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain
The knotted lies of human creeds,
The wounding cords which bind and strain
The heart until it bleeds,
Rayfringéd eyelids of the morn
Roof not a glance so keen as thine:
If aught of prophecy be mine,
Thou wilt not live in vain.
