'Tis true the wisdom that my mind exacts <br />Through contemplation from a heart unbent <br />By many tempests may be stained and rent: <br />The summer flies it mightily attracts. <br />Yet they seem choicer than your sons of facts, <br />Which scarce give breathing of the sty's content <br />For their diurnal carnal nourishment: <br />Which treat with Nature in official pacts. <br />The deader body Nature could proclaim. <br />Much life have neither. Let the heavens of wrath <br />Rattle, then both scud scattering to froth. <br />But during calms the flies of idle aim <br />Less put the spirit out, less baffle thirst <br />For light than swinish grunters, blest or curst.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/continued-iii/
