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CHAFF, by                    
First Line: Let me no more in fretful mood arise
Last Line: Nor this, my voice, be raised in cold disdain.


Let me no more in fretful mood arise,
Grim as old Death, angered by man or beast,
Or gems of truth in varied fool's disguise,
And think myself of all the very least.
Let me not feel the sting of words or know
The unmelodious song dark lips composed
Or fling some chaff where grain would better go;
Let mercy sleep where malice has reposed.
And in those darker hours compel a mood
Of gayer frame, of permanence and power,
Of deeper root and more substantial food,
Granted more beauty for the later flower.

Let not tare be dropped among the grain
Nor this, my voice, be raised in cold disdain.





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