A WARNING
Don't listen to the fairies, Son—don't try to leave the clods,
To wander off in Eden with the children of the gods;
Don't worry when the hunters hush the nest-notes of the dove,
Nor fret when gold is offered for the broken lute of love.
Don't listen to the fairies, Son,—don't leave the Land of Trade
To seek the laughing waters and the woodland's mystic shade;
Don't grieve because they leave you and don't answer when they call:
Their tongues are tipt with honey—they are lotus-eaters all.
Don't listen to the fairies, Son,—don't watch the star that gleams
To guide you up the mountain to the throne-room of your dreams;
Don't turn aside to catch the light that showers from life's wings,
Lest you forget the ledger is the holiest of things.
Don't listen to the fairies, Son,—don't be a fool and quit
The sacred House of Dollars, just at Music's feet to sit;
Don't heed them when they whisper "love" and "hope" and "faith" and "trust,"—
For all except the cashbox is as ashes and as dust.