Hot with Wrath
"HOW EASILY MEN'S CHEEKS ARE HOT WITH WRATH!"
How easily men's cheeks are hot with wrath!
In haste, with little knowledge of the art,
The many judge the individual heart.
But every heart a secret chamber hath,
Thereto a door whose lock no key will turn.
What oil the lamps within that chamber burn
Is for each man his secret. But a stream
Of light goes through the key-hole, by whose gleam
We move about and wake, and fall asleep.
It leads us; to our journey's end we keep
Along the pathway pointed by its beam.
In haste, with little knowledge of the art,
The many judge the individual heart.
But every heart a secret chamber hath,
Thereto a door whose lock no key will turn.
What oil the lamps within that chamber burn
Is for each man his secret. But a stream
Of light goes through the key-hole, by whose gleam
We move about and wake, and fall asleep.
It leads us; to our journey's end we keep
Along the pathway pointed by its beam.
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