The Whip by Edwin Arlington Robinson — Read

THE DOUBT you fought so long

The cynic net you cast, / The tyranny, the wrong, / The ruin, they are past; / And here you are at last,

Your blood no longer vexed.

The coffin has you fast, / The clod will have you next.

But fear you not the clod, / Nor ever doubt the grave:

The roses and the sod

Will not forswear the wave.

The gift the river gave

Is now but theirs to cover:

The mistress and the slave

Are gone now, and the lover.

You left the two to find

Their own way to the brink

Then - shall I call you blind? -

You chose to plunge and sink.

God knows the gall we drink

Is not the mead we cry for, / Nor was it, I should think -

For you - a thing to die for.

Could we have done the same,

Had we been in your place? -