In our family goodness is a guest.
Interest arranges all things like a host
Foolishly, but the rich were long aware
Of this, and now it dawns on most of the poor.
Every entanglement works loose at last.
While we are sure of our truth and hold it fast,
Our lives gloss over those with bad designs.
A change of setting does not change the lines.
Yet at the top of our voices we all sing,
Borne on the gusto wine and powders bring.
Mouth empty, our spirit sinks: we drain the vats.
He is best who, bearing disillusion, pauses.
We are as full of small and mordant causes
As the murmuring willow grove is full of gnats.