If I could resist the humorous temptation,
The wry inducement of the follow-your-nose thought,
I might deal with anatomy and arrangement only
And forego the privilege of my subject.
But humor is the truth a little giddy
I cannot confront my nose with a lie.
So let me introduce my nose derisively
Or be derisively introduced by it.
Emphasizing what’s ahead of me,
Little leader of the march beyond
I can forgive you almost everything you are
For pointing the ways my toes turn
In the path of the possible.
Whatever fair guiding angle you might have been
On the back of my head,
However more lovely and importunate,
Yet I could never follow you, as I do now,
Foremost faith of mine,
Beckoning to no backward will-o’-the-wisp road.
But promising me at least
The sure practical inch-by-inch gain
Of the under-my-nose ground.
My hound of scent you are,
The first of beauty’s pack,
Driven ahead to hunt the sweetest,
Fetching the food of life as well as beauty,
Bearing the utmost penalty of usefulness
To be less fair than you might have been,
With nothing to do,
Faithful unbeautiful!
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