'FRIEND, whereto art thou come?' Thus Verity; Of each that to the world's sad Olivet Comes with no multitude, but alone by night, Lit with the one torch of his lifted soul, Seeking her that he may lay hands on her; Thus: and waits answer from the mouth of deed. Truth is a maid, whom men woo diversely; This, as a spouse; that, as a light-o'-love, To know, and having known, to make his brag. But woe to him that takes the immortal kiss, And not estates her in his housing life, Mother of all his seed! So he betrays, Not Truth, the unbetrayable, but himself: And with his kiss's rated traitor-craft The Haceldama of a plot of days He buys, to consummate his Judasry Therein with Judas' guerdon of despair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MADAGASCAR: AUBADE by WILLIAM DAVENANT EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DEAD STATESMAN by RUDYARD KIPLING HEINE'S GRAVE by MATTHEW ARNOLD ON THE THRESHOLD by ASTLEY H. BALDWIN THE WOLD WAGGON by WILLIAM BARNES AN ODD CONCEIT by NICHOLAS BRETON THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: MACROMICROS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |