The Old King's New Jester
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ou that in vain would front the coming orderWith eyes that meet forlornly what they must,And only with a furtive recognitionSee dust where there is dust, --Be sure you like it always in your faces,Obscuring your best graces,Blinding your speech and sight,Before you seek again your dusty placesWhere the old wrong seems right. Longer ago than cave-men had their changesOur fathers may have slain a son or two,Discouraging a further dialecticRegarding what was new;And after their unstudied admonitionOccasional contritionFor their old-fashioned waysMay have reduced their doubts, and in additionSoftened their final days. Farther away than feet shall ever travelAre the vague towers of our unbuilded State;But there are mightier things than we to lead us,That will not let us wait.And we go on with none to tell us whetherOr not we've each a tetherDetermining how fast or far we go;And it is well, since we must go together,That we are not to know. If the old wrong and all its injured glamourHaunts you by day and gives your night no peace,You may as well, agreeably and serenely,Give the new wrong its lease;For should you nourish a too fervid yearningFor what is not returning,The vicious and unfused ingredientMay give you qualms -- and one or two concerningThe last of your content.
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