Demos I

All you that are enamored of my name

And least intent on what most I require,

Beware; for my design and your desire,

Deplorably, are not as yet the same.

Beware, I say, the failure and the shame

Of losing that for which you now aspire

So blindly, and of hazarding entire

The gift that I was bringing when I came.

Give as I will, I cannot give you sight

Whereby to see that with you there are some

To lead you, and be led. But they are dumb

Before the wrangling and the shrill delight

Of your deliverance that has not come,

And shall not, if I fail you — as I might.