I know the shibboleth that slips So oilily from unctuous lips, Philanthropist to finger-tips; The modern Pharisaic brood With babble of the general good, And shallow cant of brotherhood. Theirs but the mock of love, the weed And bramble of degenerate seed, The face, but not the heart, indeed. This truth is truth since man begun: True love begins and ends in one; The love of all is love of none. 'Tis false we love the general man; True love is mightier, vaster, than The fetich of the common Pan. Centred within the single soul, Love finds the cycle of its whole, The first swift impulse and the goal. Not in the blurred and vulgar mind Does love its hallowed image find, But in itself divinest kind. And rooted thus in single good, Scatters the blessings of its mood, And blossoms unto brotherhood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 7 by CONRAD AIKEN THE CAMELOPARD by HILAIRE BELLOC THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW LINES ON CARMEN SYLVA by EMMA LAZARUS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |