 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
198
The Lonely Man
For him
There were no Springs,
No tender green, no blue, nor living gold,
No rose of holy white,
No blessèd rose of red,
No glory of love or death.
There were no Springs,
No tender green, no blue, nor living gold,
No rose of holy white,
No blessèd rose of red,
No glory of love or death.
The foolish and the faint
Set many marks on him;
The foolish and the faint
Were easy, and they laughed.
The Fool said, “Here is one
Less than myself”;
The Faint said, “Here is one
Fainter than I;
Wherefore lay on,
And may the Lord be praised!”
Set many marks on him;
The foolish and the faint
Were easy, and they laughed.
The Fool said, “Here is one
Less than myself”;
The Faint said, “Here is one
Fainter than I;
Wherefore lay on,
And may the Lord be praised!”
So that his bread was dust,
And his drink bitterness.
And his delight went past him,
And he died
Cheated, and bowed, and dumb.
And his drink bitterness.
199
And he died
Cheated, and bowed, and dumb.
And when the Worlds,
That are as sand and sand
Upon the winds of Time,
Dropp'd and were quiet,
I looked athwart the broken battlement
And saw his grey soul beating up the dawn
That are as sand and sand
Upon the winds of Time,
Dropp'd and were quiet,
I looked athwart the broken battlement
And saw his grey soul beating up the dawn
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |