How smiles he at a generation ranked <br />In gloomy noddings over life! They pass. <br />Not he to feed upon a breast unthanked, <br />Or eye a beauteous face in a cracked glass. <br />But he can spy that little twist of brain <br />Which moved some weighty leader of the blind, <br />Unwitting 'twas the goad of personal pain, <br />To view in curst eclipse our Mother's mind, <br />And show us of some rigid harridan <br />The wretched bondmen till the end of time. <br />O lived the Master now to paint us Man, <br />That little twist of brain would ring a chime <br />Of whence it came and what it caused, to start <br />Thunders of laughter, clearing air and heart.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/continued/
