Inclined to make amends.
He is old; he is agëd.
Prejudice lurks amid
His scant white locks,
And forbids the stretch-
Ing forth of generous hand in whose
Recesses coyly glint
The Bart. or K.C.B.

VI.

But you are not everyone;
Nor is he. Nor do both together
In the aggregate
Compose the great globe
And all that therein is.
I'll wait awhile, possessing my soul in
Patience.
Everything comes to the man who waits.
(Sometimes, 'tis true, 'tis the bobby
Who asks what he's loafing there for,
And bids him
Move on.
That is a chance the brave resolute soul
Faces.) The pity of it is
That you, MARKISS, having so much to give,
So little gave
To
Me.