I Plod And Peer Amid Mean Sounds And Shapes, I Hunt For Dusty Gain And Dreary Praise, And Slowly Pass The Dismal Grinning Days, Monkeying Each Other Like A Line Of Apes. What Care? There Was One Hour Amid All These When I Had Stripped Off Like A Tawdry Glove My Starriest Hopes And Wants, For Very Love Of Time And Desolate Eternities. Yea, For One Great Hour'S Triumph, Not In Me Nor Any Hope Of Mine Did I Rejoice, But In A Meadow Game Of Girls And Boys Some Sunset In The Centuries To Be.