If all the good people were clever,
and all clever people were good,
the world would be nicer than ever
we thought that it possibly could.
But somehow, ’tis seldom or never
the two hit it off as they should,
the good are so harsh to the clever,
the clever so rude to the good.
So, friends, let it be our endeavour
to make each by each understood;
for few can be good like the clever,
or clever, so well as the good!
Editors note: This poem was found in the personal possessions of an old lady who died in Walkington, well over forty years ago. It was written by Elizabeth Wordsworth who was the great-niece of the poet William Wordsworth. And, I just liked it.