MAKE friends with him! He is of royal line, Although he sits in rags. Not all of thine Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, Can buy him from his place within the gate, The King's gate of thy happiness, where he, Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free, Never obeisance making, never scorn Betraying of thy silver and new-born Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares The charmed secret of thy joys he bears; Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late And early, thwarts thy sun; for if in hate Thou plottest for his blood, thy own death cry, Not his, comes from the gallows cubits high. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF SLAVERY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT PROMISES LIKE A PIE-CRUST by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET FOR A PICTURE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE EPITAPH ON CHARLES II by JOHN WILMOT THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE; A LEGEND OF GLASGOW by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |