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Poem	IF the red slayer think he slays Or if the slain think he is slain They know not well the subtle ways I keep and pass and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; 5 Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly I am the wings; 10 I am the doubter and the doubt And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode And pine in vain the sacred Seven; But thou meek lover of the good! 15 Find me and turn thy back on heaven.
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