Page:The man against the sky; a book of poems.djvu/94

 This ruin is not myself, but some one else; I haven't failed; I've merely not achieved."

Whether he knew or not, he laughed and dined With more of an immune regardlessness Of pits before him and of sands behind Than many a child at forty would confess;

And after, when the bells in Boris rang Their tumult at the Metropolitan, He rocked himself, and I believe he sang. "God lives," he crooned aloud, "and I'm the man!"

He was. And even though the creature spoiled All prophecies, I cherish his acclaim. Three weeks he fattened; and five years he toiled In Yonkers,—and then sauntered into fame.

And he may go now to what streets he will— Eleventh, or the last, and little care;