" NOT ye who have stoned, not ye who have smitten us, " cry
The sad, great souls, as they go out hence into dark, —
" Not ye we accuse, though for you was our passion borne;
And ye we reproach not, who silently passed us by.
We forgive blind eyes and the ears that would not hark,
The careless and causeless hate and the shallow scorn.

" But ye, who have seemed to know us, have seen and heard;
Who have set us at feasts and have crowned with the costly rose;
Who have spread us the purple of praises beneath our feet;
Yet guessed not the word that we spake was a living word,
Applauding the sound, — we account you as worse than foes!
We sobbed you our message: ye said, " It is song, and sweet!" "