SIRS, if the truth must needs be told, We love not you that rail and scold; And yet, my masters, you may wait Till the Greek Calends for our hate. No spendthrifts of our hate are we; Our hate is used with husbandry. We hold our hate too choice a thing For light and careless lavishing. We cannot, dare not, make it cheap! For holy uses will we keep A thing so pure, a thing so great As Heaven's benignant gift of hate. Is there no ancient, sceptred Wrong? No torturing Power, endured too long? Yea; and for these our hatred shall Be cloistered and kept virginal. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS by EDWIN MARKHAM THE DUNES OF INDIANA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OFFICE PARTY: DISTAFF VIEW by KAREN SWENSON ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS by JAMES HOGG EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BOMBER IN LONDON by RUDYARD KIPLING |