Classic Poem

And so you are settled for ever?
And so you are happy at home?
You will never abandon us — never —
Nor leave us, to ramble and roam?

That is well; for we wish to be quiet,
We want to be sober and still;
We have done with our racket and riot,
We have wrought long enough at the mill:

The treadmill of profit and pleasure,
The merry-go-round of applause,
That leaves you no heart and no leisure
For anything better than straws:

Straws, that dazzle our eyes as we watch them,
So brisk and so bright is their play;
But ere we have managed to catch them,
A wind comes and whisks them away.

There's the straw of a keen politician,
Still tickling the popular ear;
There's the straw of a soldier's ambition —
A good one, but often too dear;

There's the straw of the popular poet,
The popular teller of tales;
The popular cheat, who can go it
In England, and also in Wales;

There's the straw of the saint or the sinner;
It matters not which — not a straw!
For we only ask who is the winner,
And what is the thing that will draw ?

Ah, and we had our part in the struggle;
We know all about it, my dear!
We too have been tempted to juggle,
And barter our souls for a cheer;

But we won't; we resist the temptation;
We only ask leisure to live:
We know of a better salvation
Than popular methods can give;

We know that the homeliest duty,
The simplest and lowliest peace,
Can be touch'd with a grace and a beauty
Which nothing on earth could increase;

We know that the life we are seeking
Is nourish'd and fed from above,
And not from the ground that is reeking
And red with the heart's blood of Love.