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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)



I Have often heard men say,
That the Philosophers of old,
Though they were good, and grave, and gray,
Did various opinions hold;
And with idolatry adore
The Gods that themselves had made before;
And we that are fools do do no more.


Every man desires what's good;
But wherein that good consists,
Is not by any understood.
This sets on work both pens and fist;
For this condemns what that approves,
And this man doth hate, what that man loves;
And that's the grand wheel that discord moves.


This would valiant be, that wise,
That's for th' sea, and this for land;
All do judge upon surmise,
None do rightly understand;
These may be like, but are not that,
Something there is that all drive at,
But only they differ about the WHAT.


And from all these several ends.
Springs diversity of actions,
For every man his studies bends,
As opinion builds his faction.
Each man's his own God-smith; what he
Thinks good, is good to him, and we
First make, and then adore our deity.


A mind that's honest, pure, and just,
A sociable life and free,
A friend that dares not break a trust,
Yet dares die, if occasion, be;
A heart that dictates to the tongue,
A soul that's innocent and strong,
That can, yet will not do any wrong:
He that has such a soul, and a mind,
That is so blest, and so inclin'd,
What all these do seek for, he does sind.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Hard Heart
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Libertine
  5. The Prodigal

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