Where are the pure, whom thou would’st choose to love thee?
Where are the brave, to stand supreme above thee,
Whose high commands would cheer, whose chidings raise thee?
Seek, seeker, in thyself; submit to find
In the stones, bread, and life in the blank mind.
(Written in London, standing in the Park,
One evening in July, just before dark.)
Sp. As I sat at the café, I said to myself,
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking,