Sands at Seventy（四）

    To those who've fail'd， in aspiration¹ vast，

    To unnam'd soldiers fallen in front on the lead，

    To calm， devoted² engineers - to over-ardent

    travelers - to pilots on their ships，

    To many a lofty song and picture without recognition

    - I'd rear a laurel-cover'd monument，

    High， high above the rest - To all cut off

    before their time，

    Possess'd by some strange spirit of fire，

    Quench'd by an early death.