Politicians. Little Tin Gods On Wheels.

As I Pass Through My Incarnations In Every Age And Race, I Make My Proper Prostrations To The Gods Of The Market-place. Peering Through Reverent Fingers I Watch Them Flourish And Fall, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings, I Notice, Outlast Them All.

A Man's Mind Is Wont To Tell Him More Than Seven Watchmen Sitting In A Tower.

You Perceive, Do You Not, That Our National Fairy Tales Reflect The Inmost Desires Of The Briton And The Gaul?

Till The Master Of All Good Workmen Shall Set Us To Work Anew.

On The Road To Mandalay, Where The Flyin'-fishes Play, An' The Dawn Comes Up Like Thunder Outer; China 'crost The Bay!