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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
FINALE, by EVELYN BYRNES
First Line: He walked with pleasure every idle hour
Last Line: A chill wind mourns alone above his clay.
First Line: He walked with pleasure every idle hour
Last Line: A chill wind mourns alone above his clay.
He walked with Pleasure every idle hour,
Eluding virtue while he followed joy.
With careless freedom, conscious of his power,
He formed his friendships only to destroy.
Men called him heartless; women shed vain tears.
He scoffed at creeds that pointed him to prayer.
His selfish days slipped into numbered years
Without a pause; and none were left to care.
Then came a moment that remorse gave check;
He turned to charity to cloak his wrong.
His waking conscience, long a shadowed wreck,
Applied for peace in penitential song.
No bribe had strength to add an extra day --
A chill wind mourns alone above his clay.
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