I know that shock must follow shock,
Until the sole remaining Rock
That all one's hopes exist on,
Crumbles beneath the crushing force
Of Conscience, kicking like a horse,
And pounding like a piston.
Hardly a little year has past
Since you, I take it, swore to cast
Aside the bonds that girt you,
And thought to stun the dazzled earth,
A pillared Miracle of Worth,
Raised on a plinth of Virtue.
One always does. One wonders why.
One knows that, as the years go by,
One finds the same old blunders,
The same old acts, the same old words;
And as one trots them out in herds,
Or one by one, one wonders;
Another year,—a touch of grey,—
A little stiffness,—day by day
We feel the need of, shall we say,
Goggles to face the sun with,—
A little loss of youthful bloom,—
A little nearer to the Tomb!
(Pardon this momentary gloom)
Bang go the bells. That's done with!
SAIREY
EXCERPTS FROM AN INCONGRUITY
After A. C. S.