Beware, my child, the enemy not yet seen,
Who, as from behind a screen,
To slake his sharp, rapacious thirst,
Full in lovely bloom may burst.

Hemlock guised as tamarind,
That bosom pal and friend
A nourishment of virtue seems,
Not a chef of foulest dreams.

Noble cause and good intentions shown
Skillfully conceal their unexpected end.
Escape his methods not now known
And injuries none can mend.

 

by Robert Hampton Burt
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