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Poem	I said, ‘O heavenly Leader, O truth’s day, Guide thou this wanderer’. He said, ‘In quest Of his own pleasure did thy wand’rer stray’. I pleaded, ‘Bide with me’. He answer’d, ‘Nay, Unmeet were thy cold couch & cheerless rest For me, soft-nurtur’d: vain is thy request. The royal-born, how hardly may endure After pomp’s luxury & silk array, Thy mean provisioning, thy dwelling poor’. Again I prayed, ‘O all life’s Sun, O true Light-giver, to our darkling earth return’. He said, ‘Pray not thus: since not ev’n my few Dare to behold me, strange ’twere not, nor new, That a poor wand’rer’s wilder’d heart should burn’.
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