Not Quite A Wasteland

It is years since I last sat in the mellow half-light of the Library in the College of the Wyvern. Some moments there will always live with me, clear crystal fragments of old dreams. But it was here that I decided that Thomas Stearns Eliot was a worthy ally in the fight for life, and it was here that I decided that apart from his The Waste Land, there were not a few other poems of his which inspired me.

A few days ago, I remembered one particular verse:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

It has always been that choice — to be Fool or Magician. And if neither, for the moment, then why not an attendant lord? There is enough honour there.