HE is the discard of the pack; He wonders, as he's tossed aside, What miss was his, what sorry lack, In what he erred, for whom he died? The two and fifty, comrades good, He loved; he yearned to play the game; The rules he thought he understood, -- Chances for glory or for shame. And so, high-heartedly he leapt Into the maze of queens and kings; In careless-wise, the Great Adept His soul into a corner flings. See, the once merry knave lies low, Puzzled, he broods his fortune black; This one thing only can he know: He is the discard of the pack. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 55. ST. VALENTINE'S DAY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE OLD SHIPS by JAMES ELROY FLECKER ULTIMA VERITAS by WASHINGTON GLADDEN THE KINGS by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY CITY TREES by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY LINES TO THE MEMORY OF ANNIE WHO DIED AT MILAN, JUNE 6, 1860 by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE |