A MAN of destiny. A sword. No old maid's morals dulled his aim. He nailed the cheat upon the board, Then, stolid Indian, quit the game. Nursed in men's blood by iron years, Though red his hands, though short his span -- We raise our glass in silence: Here's No text-book pedant, but a man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SECOND OPINION by STEPHEN CUSHMAN THE HOMECOMING by THOMAS HARDY THE COMING OF GOOD LUCK by ROBERT HERRICK LUKE HAVERGAL by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PSALM 104, SELECTION by RICHARD BLACKMORE ON THE WAY TO CHURCH by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT JACK FROST AND THE CATY-DID by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |