His frown brought terror to his foes, <br /> But now in twilight of his days <br />The pure perfection of a rose <br /> Can kindle rapture in his gaze. <br />Where once he swung the sword of wrath <br /> And peoples trembled at his word, <br />With hoe he trims a pansied path <br /> And listens to a bird. <br /> <br />His large of life was lived with noise, <br /> With war and strife and crash of kings: <br />But now he hungers for the joys <br /> Of peace, and hush of homely things. <br />His old dog nuzzles by his knee, <br /> And seems to say: 'Oh Master dear, <br />Please do not ever part from me! <br /> We are so happy here.' <br /> <br />His ancient maid, as sky draws dim, <br /> Calls to him that the soup grows cold. <br />She tyrannises over him <br /> Who once held armies in his hold. <br />With slippers, old skull-cap and shawl <br /> He dreams and dozes by the fire, <br />Sighing: 'Behold the end of all, <br /> Sweet rest my sole desire. <br /> <br />'My task is done, my pen is still; <br /> My Book is there for all to see,-- <br />The final triumph of my will, <br /> Ineffably, my victory. <br />A Tiger once, but now a lamb, <br /> With frailing hand my gate I close. <br />How hushed my heart! My life how calm! <br /> --Its crown a Rose.'<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clemenceau/
