98 A COMMON FAILING. 



A felon bee of eastern clime, 



So poets tell the history sad, 

 Draws from the sweet bloom of the thyme 



A venom forth that drives men mad, 

 Neglecting all the sweets : or worse, 

 Making them yield a deadly curse. 



But think not that a poison lurks 

 Deep hidden in a brother's words ; 



Read his true nature in his works ; 

 Our brief existence ill affords 



The time to seek supposed intent, 



To hunt for what was never meant. 



Better by ftir to suffer blindness, 

 The stolid blindness of the mind, 



Than to search through a life of kindness 

 For some faint trace of aught unkind, 



And seek by skill to bring to light 



That which before was out of sight. 



Man should not exercise the power, 

 Possessed by his too subtle mind, 



To find the bitter and the sour, 



Where all around is sweet and kind ; 



Thus, by alembic of the soul. 



Distilling drops of venom foul. 



