Finis
By Ezra J. Poulsen
When we have reached the end of the last long mile,
And the grim, black shadows of the night creep down,
Will the sunset hover o’er our staunch glad smile,
Or must darkness spread her wings to hide our frown?
Will all we ever hoped to be abide the crucial hour
When wistfully we view the closing day,
Our pomp, our pelf, our little meed of vaunting power,
Will these cherished monuments survive our mortal clay?
Oh, may our hearts be brave until the twilight fades,
That closes on our last triumphant deed,
And when our lamp goes out and we slip into shades,
Heaven-bound, worthy, let courage be our creed.
(1927)
I had to look it up. “Pelf” = money, especially when gained unethically.
Probably the only other time I’ve ever seen that word is in:
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land! …
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
Funny, I was thinking about “pelf” in a poem we learned about Brownie Scouts.
I remember encountering Pelf as a type of bird “that lays eggs three times as big as herself” in Dr. Seuss’s Scrambled Eggs Super. But in any case, this is a beautiful poem. Thank you.