I Am Grown Peaceful As Old Age

And Gain Is Gain, However Small.

On The Earth The Broken Arcs; In The Heaven A Perfect Round.

Each Life Unfulfilled, You See; It Hangs Still, Patchy And Scrappy: We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free, Starved, Feasted, Despaired,—been Happy.

All Service Ranks The Same With God,- With God, Whose Puppets, Best And Worst, Are We: There Is No Last Nor First.

Over My Head His Arm He Flung, Against The World.