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SEEMING AND BEING by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL

First Line: THE BRAVE OLD MOTTO, 'SEEM NOT -- ONLY BE'
Last Line: AND THE GODS BLIND?

THE brave old motto, "Seem not -- only be," --
Would it were set ablaze against the sky
In golden letters, where the world must read!
What is there done for the honest doing's sake,
In these poor times gone mad with self-parade?
There's not a picture of the Cross but bears
The painter's name as prominent as the Christ's:
There's not a scene, of such peculiar grace
That one would fain forget men's meanness there,
But from the rocks some rascal clothier's name
Stares in great capitals, till one could wish
The knave hung from his signboard, for a sign:
There's not a graveyard in the land, but lo!
On the white tablets of the dead, full cut
Below their sacred names, his shameless name
Who carved the marble!

Is it not pitiful?
We are all actors, and all audience.
Yea, such a dreary farce we make our lives,
That something is expected of a man
Upon his deathbed: "Hark ye now, good friends,
These fine last words, this notable bravery, -- see!"
So even the grim cross-bones of awful Death
Must take an attitude, and the skull smirk
For a last picture.

Here is a nation, too
(God help it!), that dare scarcely act its mind,
But walks the world's stage, quaking with the thought,
"What will great England think of me for this?"

The poet scoffs at fame, then sets himself,
Full-titled, with a portrait at the front;
Each beautiful impatient soul who left
The world he scorned, still lingered near enough
To listen, not displeased, and hear the world
Admiringly relate how he had scorned it;
Even our great doubting Thomas, in young days
When he praised silence, did it with loud speech,
That ever too distinctly told, "'T is I,
Thomas, so noisily abuse your noise!"

Is it not enough for the trumpet that the god
Has chosen it to sound his message through?
Must the brass blare in its own petty praise?
And can we never do the right, and do it
As though we were alone upon the earth,
And the gods blind?



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