Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 175
CLXXVPRAISE
Ah, who shall Praise receive
And not profane her?
Fool were I to believe,
Churl to disdain her!
And not profane her?
Fool were I to believe,
Churl to disdain her!
Praise is the kindly love
Of all a nation,
Lifting the man above
His lower station.
Of all a nation,
Lifting the man above
His lower station.
Praise is a mortal hate;
In blood, not money,
He pays who takes the bait,
Swallows the honey.
In blood, not money,
He pays who takes the bait,
Swallows the honey.
Imperial renown,
How may I win thee?
Praise me, and I shall own
The strength of ten within me.
How may I win thee?
Praise me, and I shall own
The strength of ten within me.
Praise me, and I shall sink
In shallow water;
Folly upon the brink,
Vanity's daughter!
In shallow water;
Folly upon the brink,
Vanity's daughter!
Alone they safely trod
The flowery mazes
Who loved the praise of God
More than man's praises.
The flowery mazes
Who loved the praise of God
More than man's praises.