DREAMER-OF-THE-AGE
Hark how our camels grumble
At morn! Would you permit
The stone on which you stumble
To make you carry it?
And if at last your burden
Be cheapened in a shop,
Seraglio or Lur den,
Should lack of humour stop
The game at its beginning?
We lug the stuff of dreams.
Earth does her best by spinning,
She cannot help the seams;
But you can help to monger
The broidery. She may
Have made you richer, stronger,
To give her best away.
I own no musk or camphor,
I have no truck with care,
Nor change the thing I am for
The things men only wear.