I’ll soothe the wounds inflicted by their rancour’s bow.’
With that, God made my heart as tranquil as of yore;
Swept clean away the cobwebs of your paltry score.”
“Again I proffered counsel to you, sage and safe;
In parables soft couched, with words that might not chafe.310
Once more that milk flowed, mixed with honey, from my lips;
The dulcet tones were tempting, not like stinging whips.
Alas! Within your ears they all to venom turned;
Because, like poisonous plants, your nature goodness spurned.
Why do I weep? You’ve burnt the substance of all grief;