I wayfared at the nadir of the sun
Where populations meet, though seen of none;
       &nbsp And millions seemed to sigh around
       &nbsp As though their haunts were nigh around,
       &nbsp And unknown throngs to cry around
       &nbsp       &nbsp Of things late done.

“O Seers, who well might high ensample show”
(Came throbbing past in plainsong small and slow),
       &nbsp “Leaders who lead us aimlessly,
       &nbsp Teachers who train us shamelessly,
       &nbsp Why let ye smoulder flamelessly
       &nbsp       &nbsp The truths ye trow?

“Ye scribes, that urge the old medicament,
Whose fusty vials have long dried impotent,
       &nbsp Why prop ye meretricious things,
       &nbsp Denounce the sane as vicious things,
       &nbsp And call outworn factitious things
       &nbsp       &nbsp Expedient?

“O Dynasties that sway and shake us so,
Why rank your magnanimities so low
       &nbsp       &nbsp That grace can smooth no waters yet,
But breathing threats and slaughters yet
       &nbsp Ye grieve Earth’s sons and daughters yet
       &nbsp       &nbsp As long ago?
“Live there no heedful ones of searching sight,
Whose accents might be oracles that smite
       &nbsp To hinder those who frowardly
       &nbsp Conduct us, and untowardly;
       &nbsp To lead the nations vawardly
       &nbsp       &nbsp From gloom to light?”