To Philo

Dublin Core

To Philo

Fie, Philo, how you talk,

You're mad,

Mad, man, I say, as mad as death.

Dost think men live and walk

This earth for life alone? You balk

The truth, you - waste your breath,

You're mad.

Men live for Truth, I know,

For Truth;

Truth, man, for Truth as pure as light

Fresh-toned in morning's glow,

Dream spent where loves and roses grow.

Men live to die for right

Or Truth.

Men live for Truth and Love,

And Love;

Love, man, for Love as true as spell

Of night when stars above

Shed down in holy calm breath of

The sainted Truth's sweet bell

Of Love.

W.H.A. Moore

4:51, p. 2

1891.09.19

W.H.A. Moore, “To Philo,” Periodical Poets, accessed September 8, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/535.