He went to it and took it by both horns And threw it down. Oh, he could bear the shifts Of time and play the bitter loser’s game, The slow, unflinching chess of fortitude, But while he had an opening for attack He would attack with every ounce of strength. His heart was not a stone but trumpet-shaped And a long challenge blew an anger through it That was more dread for being musical First, last, and to the end. Again he said A curious thing to life. “I’m always wanting something.” The brief phrase Slides past us, hardly grasped in the smooth flow Of the well-balanced, mildly-humorous prose That goes along to talk of cats and duties, Maxims of conduct, farming and poor bachelors, But for a second there, the marble cracked And a strange man we never saw before Showed us the face he never showed the world And wanted something⁠—not the general Who wanted shoes and food for ragged men,