To a fellow-scholar

For A.L.P., after/on re-reading Candide

Our kingdoms have surrendered sovereign rights,
we've got to quit—we're finished, you and I;
the bloodless revolution's come and gone,
our rights are ransomed to expediency.

Civilization lies discredited
and we, who still retain the elder faiths,
find in these fallen times a grave-yard world
where we move hesitant, the outlawed wraiths.

Why fret that we are exiles, landless men,
why should we care, with none about us caring?
Let us admit we're phantoms from the past,
give up the fight in which so few are sharing,

and if not late deceased in beggary,
unmourned by Muses at the funeral,
then, threadbare at the shabby table d'hôte,
we'll meet at Venice for the Carnival.

c. 1950