I was the third man running in a race, And memory still must run it o'er and o'er: The pounding heart that beat against my frame; The wind that dried the sweat upon my face And turned my throat to paper creased and sore; The jabbing pain that sharply went and came. My eyes saw nothing save a strip of road That flaunted there behind the second man; It swam and blurred, yet still it lay before. My legs seemed none of mine, but rhythmic strode Unconscious of my will that urged, "You can!" And cried at them to make one effort more. Then suddenly there broke a wave of sound, -- Crowds shouting when the first man struck the tape; And then the second roused that friendly din; While I -- I stumbled forward and the ground All wavered 'neath my feet, while men agape, But silent, saw me as I staggered in. As sick in heart and flesh I bent my head, Two seized me and embraced me, and one cried, "Your thudding footsteps held me to the grind." And then the winner, smiling wanly, said, "No dream of records kept me to my stride -- I dreaded you two thundering behind!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE BIRTH OF VENUS by HAYDEN CARRUTH ODE TO THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY by SIDNEY LANIER SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER IN THE JEWISH SYNAGOGUE AT NEWPORT by EMMA LAZARUS |