Squarely he turned about and saw laid bare
The record where
The tale of his long years was plainly writ:
The schooldays shaped by narrow pedagogues,
The ruddy flares of crackling Christmas logs,
Moments of grit
When he had rounded rocks and raced the tide
Shoreward again; had felt the hot sand slide
Beneath his feet where lucent shallows broke
And stayed his stroke.
Transcendent moments when an artist sang
A song of rapture welling from the heart,
A song of bitterness when no tears start;
When rafters rang
To trumpet-calls; when a great organ filled
The nave and mellowed dome and flute-tones thrilled
The sanctuary;
When a great orator ruffled the sea
Of human passion; when the morning flood
Stirred his young blood
And the great Alpine peaks seemed like to pierce
The fragile curtains of his eyes, so fierce
The instancy
Of their white mantle 'gainst the azure sky.
The light of revelation lit the page,
Yet with dull rage
He heard the bitter verdict of his soul:
Down the long gamut of occasions great,
Through lack of valour or edict of fate,
To him the rôle
Of onlooker had fall'n. The years had flown
And left the lonely critic to bemoan
The hollow halls of ease and competence,
The barrier-fence
Raised high against the arena and the fray.
His cheek burned as the vision of the day
When he had lost the woman newly-won
Blurred the bright sun,