I. <br />Honey from silkworms who can gather, <br />Or silk from the yellow bee? <br />The grass may grow in winter weather <br />As soon as hate in me. <br /> <br />II. <br />Hate men who cant, and men who pray, <br />And men who rail like thee; <br />An equal passion to repay <br />They are not coy like me. <br /> <br />III. <br />Or seek some slave of power and gold <br />To be thy dear heart's mate; <br />Thy love will move that bigot cold <br />Sooner than me, thy hate. <br /> <br />IV. <br />A passion like the one I prove <br />Cannot divided be; <br />I hate thy want of truth and love-- <br />How should I then hate thee?<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-to-a-critic/
