I. PRELUDE

What would you have of me, my friend, in truth,

A breath of understanding, or a glance

Into your soul's dark places? Can a word

Aid in your brave attempt to smother youth?

Of what avail that trifling circumstance,

In such a tumult could my voice be heard?

Before your bitter need my lips are dumb

So little can I give you. Should I come

To feed a starving Titan with a crumb?