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Till the world, more eager to listen to evil than good,
Caught my whispers to hurl them back on the man as he stood.
Crept scandal, with listening ears, to his keyhole, supplied
Quick rumour, with news for the keen appetites so denied;
And hungry excitement kept hard on his quicksilver feet
Till men, self-comparing, and finding comparing were sweet.
Would say, “Look at this man,”—meaning, look what a contrast there be,—
Or, “So has he sinned, see to him (so your gaze avoid me).”
Foolish world, as if men were not judged, by each different mind.
By God’s justice, not that of the world’s great classing of kind:
“This is right, that is wrong,” as though minds were all made on one plan.
Leaving nought to inheritance, will-power, or surroundings of man.
He is dead, mother, dead; I his friend might have made his earth fair.
But I crept like a scorpion to sting all his hopes to despair: