Canto CXII

Who loves not knowledge? Who shall rail

      Against her beauty? May she mix

      With men and prosper! Who shall fix

Her pillars? Let her work prevail.

But on her forehead sits a fire:

      She sets her forward countenance

      And leaps into the future chance,

Submitting all things to desire.

Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain—

      She cannot fight the fear of death.

      What is she, cut from love and faith,

But some wild Pallas from the brain

Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst

      All barriers in her onward race

      For power. Let her know her place;

She is the second, not the first.

A higher hand must make her mild.

      If all be not in vain; and guide

      Her footsteps, moving side by side

With wisdom, like the younger child:

For she is earthly of the mind,

      But wisdom heavenly of the soul.

      O, friend, who camest to thy goal

So early, leaving me behind,

I would the great world grew like thee,

      Who grewest not alone in power

      And knowledge, but from hour to hour

In reverence and in charity.