It is not the green-eyed monster,
Nor venal greed or carnal lust,
I fear most,
But that ultimate of sins
Coming camouflaged within
All the colors you hold sacred.
It is the part that clings to beauty
And valor of others alike,
That weeps the tears of a patriot,
And says the rosary of a saint,
While its feet dance in the fire.
It says all the things most pleasing:
Of who you are, what you deserve—
In tones sweetest, because it comes
From only those you adore.
It promises you prosperity,
Peace and love and life,
And a certain shade of greatness—
unfading and unfailing—
So long as you do it right.
No other has brought so much pain
Or crowned its perpetrators as victims
With such a savage joy,
Knowing all the while,
They will do their worst
Wearing their cloaks of purity,
And godliness and patriotism,
Whatever their body,
Whatever their faith,
Whatever their ideal,
Whatever their nation.
I fear its venom in others,
But I fear it more in myself
So much harder to uproot.
For it is human
To neglect the whisper at one's ear,
That faithful, humbling line,
"Memento mori."
When one enjoys the spoils
Brought by vainglory.
I hear your lips curve,
"Ah, but I am immune,
For I am clever or faithful,
Strong or true."
There my friend, I tell you
It is already much too late
For already Pride has you
In its cruel clawed grip,
And in such a hold
The only way is down.
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