By Arthur Sherburne Hardy
Within me are two souls that pity each
The other for the ends they seek, yet smile
Forgiveness, as two friends that love the while
The folly against which each feigns to preach.
And while one barters in the market-place,
Or drains the cup before the tavern fire,
The other, winged with a divine desire,
Searches the solitary wastes of space.
And if o’ercome with pleasure this one sleeps,
The other steals away to lay its ear
Upon some lip just cold, perchance to hear
Those wondrous secrets which it knows—and keeps.