IS it a reed that's shaken by the wind, <br />Or what is it that ye go forth to see? <br />Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree, <br />Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind, <br />Post forward all, like creatures of one kind, <br />With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee <br />In France, before the new-born Majesty. <br />'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind, <br />A seemly reverence may be paid to power; <br />But that's a loyal virtue, never sown <br />In haste, nor springing with a transient shower: <br /> <br />When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown, <br />What hardship had it been to wait an hour? <br />Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/calais-august-1802/
