THE old Chimaeras, old receipts <br />For making "happy land," <br />The old political beliefs <br />Swam close before my hand. <br /> <br />The grand old communistic myths <br />In a middle state of grace, <br />Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell, <br />And walking for a space, <br /> <br />Quite dead, and looking it, and yet <br />All eagerness to show <br />The Social-Contract forgeries <br />By Chatterton - Rousseau - <br /> <br />A hundred such as these I tried, <br />And hundreds after that, <br />I fitted Social Theories <br />As one would fit a hat! <br /> <br />Full many a marsh-fire lured me on, <br />I reached at many a star, <br />I reached and grasped them and behold - <br />The stump of a cigar! <br /> <br />All through the sultry sweltering day <br />The sweat ran down my brow, <br />The still plains heard my distant strokes <br />That have been silenced now. <br /> <br />This way and that, now up, now down, <br />I hailed full many a blow. <br />Alas! beneath my weary arm <br />The thicket seemed to grow. <br /> <br />I take the lesson, wipe my brow <br />And throw my axe aside, <br />And, sorely wearied, I go home <br />In the tranquil eventide. <br /> <br />And soon the rising moon, that lights <br />The eve of my defeat, <br />Shall see me sitting as of yore <br />By my old master's feet.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-chimaeras-old-recipts/
