Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste. 40 A strange breath breathes and spits at me, Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded? 41 Little people, Confiding, open-hearted, But low-built portals, Where only the low of stature can enter. * * * * How can I get through the city-gate Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs? 42 My wisdom was like to the sun, I longed to give them light, But I only deceived them. The sun of my wisdom Blinded the eyes Of these poor bats.... 43 Blacker and eviller things didst
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EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
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