Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
Possibilities
A
A fortnight fully to be missed,
Behold, we lose our fourth at whist,
A chair is vacant where we dine.
Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps.
His fortune is the Great Perhaps
And that cool rest-house down the glen,
Our mundane revel on the height,
Shall watch each flashing ’rickshaw-light
Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play.
With lighted rooms and braying band;
And he shall hear and understand
“Dream Faces” better than us all.
Across Sanjaolie after rain,
His soul may climb the hill again
To each old field of victory.
The strong man’s yearning to his kind
Shall shake at most the window-blind,
Or dull awhile the card-room’s cheer.
His Light o’ Love another’s flame,
His dearest pony galloped lame,
And he an alien and alone!
Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen
Among us when “God save the Queen”
Shows even “extras” have an end.
And, when at four the lights expire,
The crew shall gather round the fire
And mock our laughter in the gloom;
Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise,
With ghosts of tunes for melodies,
And vanish at the morning’s breath.