School Poems: 318 / 500

Of One Self-Slain

When he went blundering back to God,
   His songs half written, his work half done,
Who knows what paths his bruised feet trod,
   What hills of peace or pain he won?

I hope God smiled and took his hand,
   And said, "Poor truant, passionate fool!
Life's book is hard to understand:
   Why couldst thou not remain at school?"

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