William Wilfred Campbell - The Politician
Carven in leathern mask or brazen face, <br /> Were I time's sculptor, I would set this man. <br /> Retreating from the truth, his hawk-eyes scan <br /> The platforms of all public thought for place. <br /> There wriggling with insinuating grace, <br /> He takes poor hope and effort by the hand, <br /> And flatters with half-truths and accents bland, <br /> Till even zeal and earnest love grow base. <br /> <br /> Knowing no right, save power's grim right-of-way; <br /> No nobleness, save life's ignoble praise; <br /> No future, save this sordid day to day; <br /> He is the curse of these material days: <br /> Juggling with mighty wrongs and mightier lies, <br /> This worshipper of Dagon and his flies!<br /><br />William Wilfred Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-politician-10/
