| This is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end - |
| That we outlive the impatient years and the much too patient friend: |
| And because we know we have breath in our mouth and |
| think we have thoughts in our head, |
| We shall assume that we are alive, whereas we are really dead. |
| |
| We shall not acknowledge that old stars fade or stronger planets arise |
| (That the sere bush buds or the desert blooms or the ancient |
| well-head dries), |
| Or any new compass wherewith new men adventure ’neath new skies. |
| |
| We shall lift up the ropes that constrained our youth, to |
| bind on our children’s hands; |
| We shall call to the water below the bridges to return and |
| replenish our lands; |
| We shall harness horses (Death’s own pale horses) and |
| scholarly plough the sands. |
| |
| We shall lie down in the eye of the sun for lack of a light on our way - |
| We shall rise up when the day is done and chirrup, «Behold, it is day!» |
| We shall abide till the battle is won ere we amble into the fray. |
| |
| We shall peck out and discuss and dissect, and evert and |
| extrude to our mind, |
| The flaccid tissues of long-dead issues offensive to God and mankind - |
| (Precisely like vultures over an ox that the Army has left behind). |
| |
| We shall make walk preposterous ghosts of the glories we once created - |
| Immodestly smearing from muddled palettes amazing |
| pigments mismated - |
| And our friends will weep when we ask them with boasts |
| if our natural force be abated. |
| |
| The Lamp of our Youth will be utterly out, but we shall |
| subsist on the smell of it; |
| And whatever we do, we shall fold our hands and suck |
| our gums and think well of it. |
| Yes, we shall be perfectly pleased with our work, and that |
| is the Perfectest Hell of it! |
| |
|
| That we are shunned by the people about and shamed by |
|
| Wherefore be free of your harness betimes; but, being free, be assured, |
| That he who hath not endured to the death, from his birth |
|