When, after blissful hours of converse free
With some rich mind, whose every word can make
Transfiguration of our thoughts, and wake
Our utmost powers, until we seem to be
New born, — we sink to barren poverty
Again with common souls, will memory take
The shape of joy or woe? of joy for sake
Of joy once known? or piteous misery
Of yearning that it come again?
I think
If unto Lazarus it had been said.
Some day, "Come in! eat once thy fill of bread
And meat, and of rich wine, the best wine, drink
Likewise thy fill," the beggar had replied,
"Nay, Master! It were harder then outside!"
