1

And do you think that unto such as you,
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,
God gave the secret, and denied it me? —
Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

2

Old Khayyam, say you, is a debauchee;
If only you were half as good as he!
He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,
Warm-hearted mirth and kind adultery.

3

But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,
The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,
The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,
And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.