A MAN went forth one day at eve: <br />The long day's toil for him was done: <br />The eye that scanned the page could leave <br />Its task until tomorrow's sun. <br /> <br /> <br />Upon the threshold where he stood <br />Flared on his tired eyes the sight, <br />Where host on host the multitude <br />Burned fiercely in the dusky night. <br /> <br /> <br />The starry lights at play—at play— <br />The giant children of the blue, <br />Heaped scorn upon his trembling clay <br />And with their laughter pierced him through. <br /> <br /> <br />They seemed to say in scorn of him <br />"The power we have was once in thee. <br />King, is thy spirit grown so dim, <br />That thou art slave and we are free?" <br /> <br /> <br />As out of him the power—the power— <br />The free—the fearless, whirled in play, <br />He knew himself that bitter hour <br />The close of all his royal day. <br /> <br /> <br />And from the stars' exultant dance <br />Within the fiery furnace glow, <br />Exile of all the vast expanse, <br />He turned him homeward sick and slow<br /><br />George William Russell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tragedy-38/
