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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357989" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Seer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Somewhere or other, 'tis doubtful where,<br>In the archives of Gosh is a volume rare,<br>A precious old classic that nobody reads,<br>And nobody asks for, and nobody heeds;<br>Which makes it a classic, and famed thro' the land,<br>As well-informed persons will quite understand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis a ponderous work, and 'tis written in prose,<br>For some mystical reason that nobody knows;<br>And it tells in a style that is terse and correct<br>Of the rule of the Swanks and its baneful effect<br>On the commerce of Gosh, on its morals and trade;<br>And it quotes a grave prophecy somebody made.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is the prophecy, written right bold<br>On a parchment all tattered and yellow and old;<br>So old and so tattered that nobody knows<br>How far into foretime its origin goes.<br>But this is the writing that set Glugs agog<br>When 'twas called to their minds by the Mayor of Quog:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When Gosh groaneth bastlie thro Greed and bys plannes<br>Ye rimer shall mende ye who mendes pottes and pans.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Now, the Mayor of Quog, a small suburb of Gosh,<br>Was intensely annoyed at the act of King Splosh<br>In asking the Mayor of Piphel to tea<br>With himself and the Queen on a Thursday at three;<br>When the King must have known that the sorriest dog,<br>If a native of Piphel, was hated in Quog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An act without precedent! Quog was ignored!<br>The Mayor and Council and Charity Board,<br>They met and considered this insult to Quog;<br>And they said, ' 'Tis the work of the treacherous Og!<br>'Tis plain the Og influence threatens the Throne;<br>And the Swanks are all crazed with this trading in stone.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Said the Mayor of Quog: 'This has long been foretold<br>In a prophecy penned by the Seer of old.<br>We must search, if we'd banish the curse of our time,<br>For a mender of pots who's a maker of rhyme.<br>'Tis to him we must look when our luck goes amiss.<br>But, Oh, where in all Gosh is a Glug such as this?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the Mayor and Council and Charity Board<br>O'er the archival prophecy zealously pored,<br>With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads,<br>With a searching and prying for possible threads<br>That would lead to discover this versatile Glug<br>Who modelled a rhyme while he mended a mug.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads,<br>They gave up the task and went home to their beds,<br>Where each lay awake while he tortured his brain<br>For a key to the riddle, but ever in vain . . .<br>Then, lo, at the Mayor's front door in the morn<br>A tinker called out, and a Movement was born.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans!<br>Oh, the stars are the god; but the earth, it is man's.<br>But a fool is the man who has wants without end,<br>While the tinker's content with a kettle to mend.<br>For a tinker owns naught but the earth, which is man's.<br>Then, bring out your kettles! Ho, kettles and pans!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>From the mayoral bed with unmayoral cries<br>The magistrate sprang ere he'd opened his eyes.<br>'Hold him!' he yelled, as he bounced on the floor.<br>'Oh, who is this tinker that rhymes at my door?<br>Go get me the name and the title of him 1'<br>They answered. 'Be calm, sir. 'Tis no one but Sym.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis Sym, the mad tinker, the son of old Joi,<br>Who ran from his home when a bit of a boy.<br>He went for a tramp, tho' 'tis common belief,<br>When folk were not looking he went for a thief;<br>Then went for a tinker, and rhymes as he goes.<br>Some say he's crazy, but nobody knows.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas thus it began, the exalting of Sym,<br>And the mad Gluggish struggle that raged around him.<br>For the good Mayor seized him, and clothed him in silk,<br>And fed him on pumpkins and pasteurised milk,<br>And praised him in public, and coupled his name<br>With Gosh's vague prophet of archival fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Press interviewed him a great many times,<br>And printed his portrait, and published his rhymes;<br>Till the King and Sir Stodge and the Swanks grew afraid<br>Of his fame 'mid the Glugs and the trouble it made.<br>For, wherever Sym went in the city of Gosh,<br>There were cheers for the tinker, and hoots for King Splosh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His goings and comings were watched for and cheered;<br>And a crowd quickly gathered where'er he appeared.<br>All the folk flocked around him and shouted his praise;<br>For the Glugs followed fashion, and Sym was a craze.<br>They sued him for words, which they greeted with cheers,<br>For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'0, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!'<br>They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave,<br>And remark, with an air, ''Tis a very fine day.'<br>'Now ain't he a marvel?' they'd shout. 'Hip, Hooray!'<br>'To live,' would Sym answer, 'To live is to feel!'<br>'And ain't he a poet?' a fat Glug would squeal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sym had a quaint fancy in phrase and in text;<br>When he'd fed them with one they would howl for the next.<br>Thus he'd cry, 'Love is love 1' and the welkin they'd lift<br>With their shouts of surprise at his wonderful gift.<br>He would say 'After life, then a Glug must meet death!'<br>And they'd clamour for more ere he took the next breath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Sym grew aweary of this sort of praise,<br>And he longed to be back with his out-o'-door days,<br>With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree,<br>Rhyming and tinkering, fameless and free.<br>He said so one day to the Mayor of Quog,<br>And declared he'd as lief live the life of a dog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the Mayor was vexed; for the Movement had grown,<br>And his dreams had of late soared as high as a throne.<br>'Have a care! What is written is written,' said he.<br>'And the dullest Glug knows what is written must be.<br>'Tis the prophet of Gosh who has prophesied it;<br>And 'tis thus that 'tis written by him who so writ:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Lo, the Tinker of Gosh he shall make him three rhymes:<br>One on the errors and aims of his times,<br>One on the symptoms of sin that he sees,<br>And the third and the last on whatever he please.<br>And when the Glugs hear them and mark what they mean<br>The land shall be purged and the nation made clean.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So Sym gave a promise to write then and there<br>Three rhymes to be read in the Great Market Square<br>To all Glugs assembled on Saturday week.<br>'And then,' said the Mayor, 'if still you must seek<br>To return to your tramping, well, just have your fling;<br>But I'll make you a marquis, or any old thing . . .'<br>Said Sym, 'I shall tinker, and still be a king.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</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=357989" data-title="The Seer de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="Somewhere or other, 'tis doubtful where,
In the archives of Gosh is a volume rare,
A precious old classic that nobody reads,
And nobody asks for, and nobody heeds;
Which makes it a classic, and famed thro' the land,
As well-informed persons will q..."></div>
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