 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
81
VICTORY
So, I have gained a crown and lost a friend!
What, was he envious of my climbing fame.
Did he aspire to what I did not claim,
Mistake the summit that I dared ascend?
What, was he envious of my climbing fame.
Did he aspire to what I did not claim,
Mistake the summit that I dared ascend?
And I, who chiefly toiled that I might spend
My hoarded hopes to crown his tardier name,
Sad and alone, in solitude and shame,
Sit mourning, careless what the fates may send.
My hoarded hopes to crown his tardier name,
Sad and alone, in solitude and shame,
Sit mourning, careless what the fates may send.
So David, when the fiercest fight was won,
Recked not of all the faithful hearts that bled
To comfort him, to guard his troubled days:
He to his Captains spoke no word of praise,
But wailed in cold unreasoning grief, and said:
“Oh my son Absalom, my son, my son!”
Recked not of all the faithful hearts that bled
To comfort him, to guard his troubled days:
He to his Captains spoke no word of praise,
But wailed in cold unreasoning grief, and said:
“Oh my son Absalom, my son, my son!”
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |