He, who had a sword to swing, Ever went ablundering Into cul-de-sacs, Found the way was black, and then Had, perforce, to hack again (With small sword-room!) back again To the beaten tracks. All the knaves beset him there; Yet they could not fret him there When his sword was drawn. He himself must beat himself, He alone defeat himself. Lord, how he could cheat himself When the mood was on! So they gave him rope enough; Dodging him, with hope enough He would pull the noose. None but feared the thrust of him When they roused the lust of him; Yet—there lies the dust of him,— Played with—fast and loose! Let the grave absorb it quite! What a blazing orbit might Not his sword have whirled; Carving out a name for him, Purple robes and fame for him, Plaudits and acclaim for him, Fearing not the World! But some foible nursed in him Spread disaster cursed in him. Like a flame it ran Withering every branch for him,— Wounds that none could staunch for him! Nor might ships re-launch for him When the end began! So to vile sterility Sank his possibility,— Dust upon the shelf! He alone could cheat himself, So at last he beat himself Striving to defeat himself Through his other self! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OBERMANN ONCE MORE by MATTHEW ARNOLD GETTYSBURG [JULY 1-3, 1863] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE THE CASTLE BY THE SEA by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND THE PIAZZA OF ST. MARK AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MALLARDS PASS UNHARMED by LAURA FRANCES ALEXANDER THE UNKNOWN GOD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD POSTHUMOUS by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN |