THO' Disappointment dog his feet, And currish Malice wound his heel; Tho' none his rare successes greet Nor for his frequent failures feel; Tho' the jade Fortune vex him still With one unchanging frown of spite; She shall not bend his steadfast will, Nor turn his footsteps from the Right. What are to him her crooked ways, The worthless gifts her hands withhold? The dross which dullards take for gold, The insult of unworthy praise? Alone, serene, secure, he is A rock 'mid troubled deeps, a tree Rooted in hidden sanctities, And, keeping those, content to be. Despite the shrill, abusive throng, The selfish silence of the great, Who dares to suffer and be strong Is master of himself and Fate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARASITICS: TO CERTAIN POETS by CONRAD AIKEN SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 3 by CONRAD AIKEN ESSAY ON STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON TALK OF PEACE AT THIS TIME by ROBERT FROST THE WILLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |