And ever thought, "Where can the guide be going?"
But trusted long and rambled on in rings,
For ever climbing up some miry summit,
And halting there to curse the contrite guide,
For ever then descending like a plummet
Into a chasm on the other side.
Oft have I sat and wept, or sought to study
With hopeless gaze the uninstructive stars,
Hopeless because the very skies were muddy;
I only saw a red malicious Mars;