NOW that which for many years I have lived for Is done; now that my enemy is vanquished, Now that I know myself the victor— What do I know myself for? For that which is empty but for foulness; Like that fungus which children call The devil's snuff-box; a skin filled with nothingness But evil odour. A prick, a puff of black dust; A smell; and the memory of that which offended. Yet, in vanishing, the devil's snuff-box Spreads seeds of its own foulness In the dust that it scatters. So will the trail which I leave behind In the applause with which men hail my name Make other devil's snuff-boxes; fair to the seeming; Swollen with pride and with the bloating corruption Into which dead souls turn. Till, their mission filled, their enemies vanquished, They know themselves but for stench and dust, Their souls consumed with consuming, Vanquished in the victory that men applaud, As children clap their hands As the sight of devil's snuff-boxes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |