I THIS Riddle rede or die, Says History since our Flood, To warn her sons of power: -- It can be truth, it can be lie; Be parasite to twist awry; The drouthy vampire for your blood; The fountain of the silver flower; A brand, a lure, a web, a crest; Supple of wax or tempered steel; The spur to honour, snake in nest: 'Tis as you will with it to deal; To wear upon the breast, Or trample under heel. II And rede you not aright, Says Nature, still in red Shall History's tale be writ! For solely thus you lead to light The trailing chapters she must write, And pass my fiery test of dead Or living through the furnace-pit: Dislinked from who the softer hold In grip of brute, and brute remain: Of whom the woeful tale is told, How for one short Sultanic reign, Their bodies lapse to mould, Their souls behowl the plain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AND SO, I THINK DIOGENES by AMY LOWELL ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE FROM THE CITY OF COLOGNE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN HOSPITAL: 23. MUSIC by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY FIRST FIG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE BIRTH SONG OF CHRIST by EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS |