Pome 5

June 25, 2011

Chaplin and the kid

The lords of life, the lords of life,
I saw them pass,
In their own guise,
Like and unlike,
Portly and grim,
Use and Surprise,
Surface and Dream,
Succession swift, and spectral Wrong,
Temperament without a tongue,
And the inventor of the game
Omnipresent without name;
Some to see, some to be guessed,
They marched from east to west:
Little man, least of all,
Among the legs of his guardians tall,
Walked about with puzzled look:
Him by the hand dear nature took;
Dearest nature, strong and kind,
Whispered, ‘Darling, never mind!
Tomorrow they will wear another face,
The founder thou! these are thy race!’

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