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If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is
slain,
They know not well the subtle
ways
I keep, and pass, and
turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near,
Shadow and sunlight are the
same,
The vanished gods to me
appear,
And one to me are
shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the
wings;
I am the doubter and the
doubt,
And I the hymn the
Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred
Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the
good!
Find me, and turn thy
back on heaven.
1856 [1857]
 Criticism on "Brahma."
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