Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me, Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes not, One's-self must never give way -- that is the final substance -- that out of all is sure, Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains? When shows break up what but One's-Self is sure? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR DEVIL! by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE MOUNTAIN WHIPPOORWILL (A GEORGIA ROMANCE) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE PLANTATION CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR CHIQUITA by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SNAKES, MONGOOSES, SNAKE-CHARMERS, AND THE LIKE by MARIANNE MOORE ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON DEATH AND THE LADY; THEIR BARGAIN TOLD AGAIN by LEONIE ADAMS |