Did you see that man riding past, <br />With shoulders bowed with care? <br />There’s failure in his eyes to last, <br />And in his heart despair. <br />He seldom looks to left or right, <br />He nods, but speaks to none, <br />And he’s a man who fought the fight— <br />God knows how hard!—and won. <br />No great “review” could rouse him now, <br />No printed lies could sting; <br />No kindness smooth his knitted brow, <br />Nor wrong one new line bring. <br />Through dull, dumb days and brooding nights, <br />From years of storm and stress, <br />He’s riding down from lonely heights— <br />The Mountains of Success. <br /> <br />He sees across the darkening land <br />The graveyards on the coasts; <br />He sees the broken columns stand <br />Like cold and bitter ghosts; <br />His world is dead while yet he lives, <br />Though known in continents; <br />His camp is where his country gives <br />Its pauper monuments.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/success-15/
