Page:The Five Nations.djvu/142

122 Where unvisited, a-cold,

Lie the crowded years of old

In that Kensall-Green of greatness called the files—

(In our newspaPère-la-Chaise the office files),

Where the dead men lay them down

Meekly sure of long renown,

And above them, sere and swift,

Packs the daily deepening drift

Of the all-recording, all-effacing files—

The obliterating, automatic files.

Count the mighty men who slung

Ink, Evangel, Sword, or Tongue

When Reform and you were young—

Made their boasts and spake according in the files—

(Hear the ghosts that wake applauding in the files!)

Trace each all-forgot career

From long primer through brevier

Unto Death, a para minion in the files

(Para minion—solid—bottom of the files)....

Some successful Kings and Queens adorn the files,