Thomas Hardy — Murmurs in the gloom

I wayfared at the nadir of the sun Where populations meet, though seen of none;        &nbsp And millions seemed to sigh around        &nbsp As though their haunts were nigh around,        &nbsp And unknown throngs to cry around        &nbsp       &nbsp Of things late done. “O Seers, who well might high ensample show” (Came throbbing past in plainsong small and slow),        &nbsp “Leaders who lead us aimlessly,        &nbsp Teachers who train us shamelessly,        &nbsp Why let ye smoulder flamelessly        &nbsp       &nbsp The truths ye trow? “Ye scribes, that urge the old medicament, Whose fusty vials have long dried impotent,        &nbsp Why prop ye meretricious things,        &nbsp Denounce the sane as vicious things,        &nbsp And call outworn factitious things        &nbsp       &nbsp Expedient? “O Dynasties that sway and shake us so, Why rank your magnanimities so low        &nbsp       &nbsp That grace can smooth no waters yet, But breathing threats and slaughters yet        &nbsp Ye grieve Earth’s sons and daughters yet        &nbsp       &nbsp As long ago? “Live there no heedful ones of searching sight, Whose accents might be oracles that smite        &nbsp To hinder those who frowardly        &nbsp Conduct us, and untowardly;        &nbsp To lead the nations vawardly        &nbsp       &nbsp From gloom to light?”