Page:The Man Who Died Twice (1924).djvu/62

 That this new clarity was the light that comes

Before the night comes, and would not last long—

Yet knowing that it was not. Like shining grain,

Long fouled and hidden by chaff and years of dust

In a dark place, and after many seasons

Winnowed and cleaned, with sunlight falling on it,

His wits were clear again. He had no power

To use them, and at first repudiated

The faintest wakening flicker of any wish

For use of any such power. But a short fight

Found his whole fragile armor of negation

So tattered that it fell away from him

Like time-worn kingly rags of self-delusion

At the rough touch of the inevitable—

Till he confessed a rueful willingness

To reason that with time and care this power