What men are they who haunt these fatal glooms, And fill their living mouths with dust of death, And make their habitations in the tombs, And breathe eternal sighs with mortal breath, And pierce life's pleasant veil of various error5To reach that void of darkness and old terror Wherein expire the lamps of hope and faith?
They have much wisdom yet they are not wise, They have much goodness yet they do not well, (The fools we know have their own paradise, 10The wicked also have their proper Hell);
They have much strength but still their doom is stronger, Much patience but their time endureth longer, Much valour but life mocks it with some spell.
They are most rational and yet insane: 15And outward madness not to be controlled;A perfect reason in the central brain, Which has no power, but sitteth wan and cold, And sees the madness, and foresees as plainly The ruin in its path, and trieth vainly 20To cheat itself refusing to behold.
And some are great in rank and wealth and power, And some renowned for genius and for worth;And some are poor and mean, who brood and cower And shrink from notice, and accept all dearth 25Of body, heart and soul, and leave to others All boons of life: yet these and those are brothers, The saddest and the weariest men on earth.
