Ah! What avails the classic bent |
And what the cultured word, |
Against the undoctored incident |
That actually occurred? |
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And what is Art whereto we press |
Through paint and prose and rhyme - |
When Nature in her nakedness |
Defeats us every time? |
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It is not learning, grace nor gear, |
Nor easy meat and drink, |
But bitter pinch of pain and fear |
That makes creation think. |
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When in this world's unpleasing youth |
Our godlike race began, |
The longest arm, the sharpest tooth, |
Gave man control of man; |
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Till, bruised and bitten to the bone |
And taught by pain and fear, |
He learned to deal the far-off stone, |
And poke the long, safe spear. |
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So tooth and nail were obsolete |
As means against a foe, |
Till, bored by uniform defeat, |
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Then stone and javelin proved as vain |
As old-time tooth and nail; |
Till, spurred anew by fear and pain, |
Man fashioned coats of mail. |
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Then was there safety for the rich |
And danger for the poor, |
Till someone mixed a powder which |
Redressed the scale once more. |
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Helmet and armour disappeared |
With sword and bow and pike, |
And, when the smoke of battle cleared, |
All men were armed alike. ... |
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And when ten million such were slain |
To please one crazy king, |
Man, schooled in bulk by fear and pain, |
Grew weary of the thing; |
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And, at the very hour designed |
To enslave him past recall, |
His tooth-stone-arrow-gun-shy mind |
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All Power, each Tyrant, every Mob |
Whose head has grown too large, |
Ends by destroying its own job |
And works its own discharge; |
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Move all things from his path, |
Trembles meanwhile at their decrees, |
And deprecates their wrath! |