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!