Classic Poem

Never with base men be communicate—
This learn—but cleave to them of good estate;
Eat thou and drink with those and sit with those,
And study those to pleasure, that are great.

No man hath been, nor will be, 'neath the sun,
Who can please all men, ere his days be done,
For even the Lord of angels and of men,
Almighty God, cannot please every one.

Let the brass dome of heaven, wide and great,
Fall on me, and man's terror consummate,
If I be not a true friend to my friends,
And a sore grief and pain to those I hate.

If thou wilt wash me, from my head shall flow,
Unstained the water, whiter than the snow;
Yea, thou shalt find me still in everything
Pure gold, that by the touchstone one may know.

Hope is the only good God left to men:
All else have passed to heaven beyond our ken;
Faith, that great god, is gone, and Temperance,
And even Grace is now an alien.

But let us leave these questions, and to me
Do thou make music, and of poesy
Let us indite; for of her gracious store
To me and thee and ours she hath given the key.