Thus need you have no fear,

No terrible delight

Shall cross your path, my dear.

Call no man foe, but never love a stranger.

Build up no plan, nor any star pursue.

Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger.

Thus nothing God can send,

And nothing God can do

Shall pierce your peace, my friend.

THE NEWER ZION

When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying,

When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green,

Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying

Behind the staging of this darling scene?

Shall I—a cast-off puppet—seek to study

The Showman who manipulates the strings,

The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy,

The prosy truths of all these faery things?

Shall I—self-conscious by a glassy ocean—

Stammer strange songs amid an alien host?

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