Come let us mock at the great That
had such burdens on the mind And
toiled so hard and late To
leave some monument behind, Nor
thought of the levelling wind. Come
let us mock at the wise; With
all those calendars whereon They
fixed old aching eyes, They
never saw how seasons run, And
now but gape at the sun. Come
let us mock at the good That
fancied goodness might be gay, And
sick of solitude Might
proclaim a holiday: Wind
shrieked - and where are they? Mock
mockers after that That
would not lift a hand maybe To
help good, wise or great To
bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery. |
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