Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
The Old Men
T
That we outlive the impatient years and the much too patient friend:
And because we know we have breath in our mouth and think we have thoughts in our head,
We shall assume that we are alive, whereas we are really dead.
(That the sere bush buds or the desert blooms or the ancient well-head dries),
Or any new compass wherewith new men adventure ’neath new skies.
We shall call to the water below the bridges to return and replenish our lands;
We shall harness horses (Death’s own pale horses) and scholarly plough the sands.
We shall rise up when the day is done and chirrup, “Behold, it is day!”
We shall abide till the battle is won ere we amble into the fray.
The flaccid tissues of long-dead issues offensive to God and mankind—
(Precisely like vultures over an ox that the Army has left behind).
Immodestly smearing from muddled palettes amazing pigments mismated—
And our friends will weep when we ask them with boasts if our natural force be abated.
And whatever we do, we shall fold our hands and suck our gums and think well of it.
Yes, we shall be perfectly pleased with our work, and that is the Perfectest Hell of it!
That we are shunned by the people about and shamed by the Powers above us.
Wherefore be free of your harness betimes; but, being free, be assured,
That he who hath not endured to the death, from his birth he hath never endured!