THE TRIUMPH OF MAN

I plod and peer amid mean sounds and shapes,

I hunt for dusty gain and dreary praise,

And slowly pass the dismal grinning days,

Monkeying each other like a line of apes.

What care? There was one hour amid all these

When I had stripped off like a tawdry glove

My starriest hopes and wants, for very love

Of time and desolate eternities.

Yea, for one great hour's triumph, not in me

Nor any hope of mine did I rejoice,

But in a meadow game of girls and boys

Some sunset in the centuries to be.