What Rudyard Kipling Might Dash Off

Ye have moiled and babbled and boasted
Of the Spring so far away;
Come, — leave your threshing of what has been,
For the Spring of the Great To-day.
Ye may maunder about the morrow,
Ye may christen it Golden Age;
But the Gold lies snug in its rift to-day,
For you if ye pay the wage.
Ye need not sweat to gain it;
Ye need no gems to pay:
For now ye may find the golden Spring,
The Spring of the Great To-day.