We move, the wheel must always move,
Nor always on the plain,
And if we move to such a goal
As wisdom hopes to gain,
Then you that drive, and know your Craft.
Will firmly hold the rein,
Nor lend an ear to random cried,
Or you may drive in vain,
For some cry Quick and some cry Slow
But, while the hills remain,
Up hill Too-slow will need the whip,
Down hill Too-quick the chain.
Politics
written byAlfred Tennyson
© Alfred Tennyson