They say, that Pity in Love's service dwells, <br />A porter at the rosy temple's gate. <br />I missed him going: but it is my fate <br />To come upon him now beside his wells; <br />Whereby I know that I Love's temple leave, <br />And that the purple doors have closed behind. <br />Poor soul! if in those early days unkind, <br />Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, <br />We now might with an equal spirit meet, <br />And not be matched like innocence and vice. <br />She for the Temple's worship has paid price, <br />And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat. <br />She sees through simulation to the bone: <br />What's best in her impels her to the worst: <br />Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love's thirst, <br />Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xliv-they-say-that-pity/
