| I SAY no more for Clavering | |
| Than I should say of him who fails | |
| To bring his wounded vessel home | |
| When reft of rudder and of sails; | |
| |
| I say no more than I should say | 5 |
| Of any other one who sees | |
| Too far for guidance of to-day, | |
| Too near for the eternities. | |
| |
| I think of him as I should think | |
| Of one who for scant wages played, | 10 |
| And faintly, a flawed instrument | |
| That fell while it was being made; | |
| |
| I think of him as one who fared, | |
| Unfaltering and undeceived, | |
| Amid mirages of renown | 15 |
| And urgings of the unachieved; | |
| |
| I think of him as one who gave | |
| To Lingard leave to be amused, | |
| And listened with a patient grace | |
| That we, the wise ones, had refused; | 20 |
| |
| I think of metres that he wrote | |
| For Cubit, the ophidian guest: | |
| “What Lilith, or Dark Lady”… Well, | |
| Time swallows Cubit with the rest. | |
| |
| I think of last words that he said | 25 |
| One midnight over Calverly: | |
| “Good-by—good man.” He was not good; | |
| So Clavering was wrong, you see. | |
| |
| I wonder what had come to pass | |
| Could he have borrowed for a spell | 30 |
| The fiery-frantic indolence | |
| That made a ghost of Leffingwell; | |
| |
| I wonder if he pitied us | |
| Who cautioned him till he was gray | |
| To build his house with ours on earth | 35 |
| And have an end of yesterday; | |
| |
| I wonder what it was we saw | |
| To make us think that we were strong; | |
| I wonder if he saw too much, | |
| Or if he looked one way too long. | 40 |
| |
| But when were thoughts or wonderings | |
| To ferret out the man within? | |
| Why prate of what he seemed to be, | |
| And all that he might not have been? | |
| |
| He clung to phantoms and to friends, | 45 |
| And never came to anything. | |
| He left a wreath on Cubit’s grave. | |
| I say no more for Clavering. | |
