To the Companions
Rudyard Kipling 1865 (Mumbai) – 1936 (London)
How comes it that, at even-tide,
When level beams should show most truth,
Man, failing, takes unfailing pride
In memories of his frolic youth?
Venus and Liber fill their hour;
The games engage, the law-courts prove;
Till hardened life breeds love of power
Or Avarice, Age's final love.
Yet at the end, these comfort not--
Nor any triumph Fate decrees--
Compared with glorious, unforgot--
Ten innocent enormities
Of frontless days before the beard,
When, instant on the casual jest,
The God Himself of Mirth appeared
And snatched us to His heaving breast
And we--not caring who He was
But certain He would come again--
Accepted all He brought to pass
As Gods accept the lives of men...
Then He withdrew from sight and speech,
Nor left a shrine. How comes it now,
While Charon's keel grates on the beach,
He calls so clear: "Rememberest thou?"
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 44 sec read
- 68 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABAB CXCX XDAD EFEF XGXG HIHI |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 850 |
Words | 148 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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"To the Companions" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 9 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/33624/to-the-companions>.
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