I have been fashioned on a chain of flesh

Whose ancient lengths are immolate to dust:

Frail though that dust be as the dew’s mesh

The morning mars, it holds me to a trust:

My flesh that was, long as this flesh knew life,

Strove, and was valiant, still strove, and was naught:

Now it is mine to wage their valiant strife

And failing seek still what they ever sought.

I have been given wings they never wore.

I have been given hope they never knew.

And they were brave, who can be brave no more.

And they that live are kind as they are few.

’Tis mine to touch with deathlessness their clay:

And I shall fail, and join those I betray.