To the Companions

by Rudyard Kipling

　　

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How comes it that, at even-tide,When level beams should show most truth,Man, failing, takes unfailing prideIn memories of his frolic youth?Venus and Liber fill their hour;The games engage, the law-courts prove;Till hardened life breeds love of powerOr Avarice, Age's final love.Yet at the end, these comfort notNor any triumph Fate decreesCompared with glorious, unforgotTen innocent enormitiesOf frontless days before the beard,When, instant on the casual jest,The God Himself of Mirth appearedAnd snatched us to His heaving breastAnd we not caring who He wasBut certain He would come againAccepted all He brought to passAs Gods accept the lives of men...Then He withdrew from sight and speech,Nor left a shrine. How comes it now,While Charon's keel grates on the beach,He calls so clear: "Rememberest thou?"

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