O Comic Spirit, hovering overhead,
With sage's brows and finely-tempered smile,
Prom whose bowed lips a silvery laugh
is sped
At pedantry, stupidity, and guile,
So visioned by that sage on whom you bent
Always a look of perfect sympathy,
Whose laugh, like yours, was never idly
spent,
Look, Spirit, sometimes fellowly on me!
Instruct and guide me in the gentle art
Of thoughtful laughter once satyric noise;
Vouchsafe to me, I humbly ask, some part,
However little, of your perfect poise.
Keep me from bitterness, contempt, and
scorn,
From anger, pride, impatience, and disdain.
When I am self-deceived your smile shall
warn,
Your volleyed laughter set me right again.
Am I inspired to mirth or mockery,
Grant, Spirit, that it be not overdrawn;
And am I moved to malice, let it be
Only "the sunny malice of a faun."
B. L. T.
