XXXVI

The Black Riders and Other Lines (1895)

I met a seer.He held in his handsThe book of wisdom.”Sir,” I addressed him,“Let me read.""Child -” he began.”Sir,” I said,“Think not that I am a child,For already I know muchOf that which you hold.Aye, much.”He smiled.Then he opened the bookAnd held it before me. —Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.