Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/60

46 Implacable, renascent, farcical, Triumphant, and American. He did it, But he did it in a dream. When he awoke One phrase of it remained; one verse of it Went singing through the remnant of his life Like a bag-pipe through a mad-house.—He died young, And the more I ponder the small history That I have gleaned of him by scattered roads, The more do I rejoice that he died young. That measure would have chased him all his days, Defeated him, deposed him, wasted him, And shrewdly ruined him—though in that ruin There would have lived, as always it has lived, In ruin as in failure, the supreme Fulfillment unexpressed, the rhythm of God That beats unheard through songs of shattered men Who dream but cannot sound it.—He declined, From all that I have ever learned of him, With absolute good-humor. No complaint, No groaning at the burden which is light, No brain-waste of impatience—’Never mind,' He whispered, ’for I might have written Odes.'

"Speaking of odes now makes me think of ballads. Your admirable Mr. Killigrew