Classic Poem

Wherever on this round earth
Your shaft may enter,
Strike it straight, and never fear
But you'll reach at last the centre.

Each doth by his birth belong
To some sphere wherein he's strong;
Nine of ten with passion seek
Alien spheres wherein they're weak;
Whence in almost every man
Such incongruous Will and Can .
Dear Mother Earth, tell us, tell us, tell us!
What is the meaning of all the things we see? —
Oh, what a family of funny little fellows,
Calling me always, Tellus, Tellus, Tellus!
Eat your bread, drink your wine, snatch at all you see;
But I am very busy, do not bother me.

The old man moans, saints' eyes with tears are wet;
Wherefore? this real earthly human life
Offered to all, is the Socratic wife;
Had or had not, the issue is regret.