My Triumph lasted till the Drums Had left the Dead alone And then I dropped my Victory And chastened stole along To where the finished Faces Conclusion turned on me And then I hated Glory And wished myself were They.
What is to be is best descried When it has also been— Could Prospect taste of Retrospect The tyrannies of Men Were Tenderer—diviner The Transitive toward. A Bayonet’s contrition Is nothing to the Dead.
