THE POET REBUKES HIS FLATTERERS

Why will you trouble me with praise? Give me no praise. These songs I found Flashing like wings above my ways, Or blown like leaves along the ground. I caught a feather; crushed a leaf; And you applaud me. Let me be. You had no praise for that sore grief Whereof I got the mastery. You had no praise the time I fled Down rustling corridors of fear: You left me all uncomforted, With only God to cry “Draw near!” Look! at my side this moment stands My friend, who suffers and is proud. He chokes his Life between his hands, Lest, hurt and crazed, it cry too loud. He makes me hateful of my fame: Hot-faced and humble: for he too Speaks softly, radiantly my name, And loves me till it stabs me through. Have you no little word for him? Can you not see how strong he is? Oh, what is all my music dim To such great reeling victories? Leave off your praise. Smile not on me. What say you? Are my songs so sweet? They are but wind-blown wizardry. Look there! His blood-stained hands and feet!