The Jaded

They have come from far; they have come from very far, And they are wearier than they are wise. Their manliness is spent; their cheekbones are Hollow below their old beleaguered eyes Which seek, once more, the cities of the plain With dubious nostalgia, and in vain.

Listening, they have seen confusion darken, And, watching, they have heard disaster sound; They do not, any longer, care to hearken To oracles and prophets, having found Belief a stimulus which made them strong For a few moments, never very long.

And now their will is tenuous as smoke Or veils of mist from vales of mist arising; Their courage, thin as any beggar's cloak, Shrinks from advice, and shudders at advising; Sun is no less endurable than rain; Both laurels and forget-me-nots are vain.

Gray mountains rise before them, whence they hear No water, only wind across the rock, And time, their one attraction, draws them near To space where time is measured by no clock, To boundaries beyond the power of song To stir them, by its brevity, for long.