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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339845" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cui Bono</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! wind that whistles o'er thorns and thistles,<br>Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf;<br>Why should he labour to help his neighbour<br>Who feels too reckless to help himself?<br>The wail of the breeze in the bending trees<br>Is something between a laugh and a groan;<br>And the hollow roar of the surf on the shore<br>Is a dull, discordant monotone;<br>I wish I could guess what sense they express,<br>There's a meaning, doubtless, in every sound,<br>Yet no one can tell, and it may be as well —<br>Whom would it profit? — The world goes round!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On this earth so rough we know quite enough,<br>And, I sometimes fancy, a little too much;<br>The sage may be wiser than clown or than kaiser,<br>Is he more to be envied for being such?<br>Neither more nor less, in his idleness<br>The sage is doom'd to vexation sure;<br>The kaiser may rule, but the slippery stool,<br>That he calls his throne, is no sinecure;<br>And as for the clown, you may give him a crown,<br>Maybe he'll thank you, and maybe not,<br>And before you can wink he may spend it in drink —<br>To whom does it profit? — We ripe and rot!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet under the sun much work is done<br>By clown and kaiser, by serf and sage;<br>All sow and some reap, and few gather the heap<br>Of the garner'd grain of a by-gone age.<br>By sea or by soil man is bound to toil,<br>And the dreamer, waiting for time and tide,<br>For awhile may shirk his share of the work,<br>But he grows with his dream dissatisfied;<br>He may climb to the edge of the beetling ledge,<br>Where the loose crag topples and well-nigh reels<br>'Neath the lashing gale, but the tonic will fail —<br>What does it profit? — Wheels within wheels!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Aye! work we must, or with idlers rust,<br>And eat we must our bodies to nurse;<br>Some folk grow fatter — what does it matter?<br>I'm blest if I do — quite the reverse;<br>'Tis a weary round to which we are bound,<br>The same thing over and over again;<br> <br>Much toil and trouble, and a glittering bubble,<br>That rises and bursts, is the best we gain;<br>And we murmur, and yet 'tis certain we get<br>What good we deserve — can we hope for more? —<br>They are roaring, those waves, in their echoing caves —<br>To whom do they profit? — Let them roar!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Adam+Lindsay+Gordon">Adam Lindsay Gordon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339845" data-title="Cui Bono de Adam Lindsay Gordon" data-description="Oh! wind that whistles o'er thorns and thistles,
Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf;
Why should he labour to help his neighbour
Who feels too reckless to help himself?
The wail of the breeze in the bending trees
Is something between a laugh ..."></div>
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