O Comic Spirit, hovering overhead, <br />With sage's brows and finely-tempered smile, <br />Prom whose bowed lips a silvery laugh <br />is sped <br />At pedantry, stupidity, and guile, <br /> <br />So visioned by that sage on whom you bent <br />Always a look of perfect sympathy, <br />Whose laugh, like yours, was never idly <br />spent, <br />Look, Spirit, sometimes fellowly on me! <br /> <br />Instruct and guide me in the gentle art <br />Of thoughtful laughter once satyric noise; <br />Vouchsafe to me, I humbly ask, some part, <br />However little, of your perfect poise. <br /> <br />Keep me from bitterness, contempt, and <br />scorn, <br />From anger, pride, impatience, and disdain. <br />When I am self-deceived your smile shall <br />warn, <br />Your volleyed laughter set me right again. <br />Am I inspired to mirth or mockery, <br />Grant, Spirit, that it be not overdrawn; <br />And am I moved to malice, let it be <br />Only 'the sunny malice of a faun.' <br /> <br /> <br />B. L. T.<br /><br />Bert Leston Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/invocation-22/
