Classic Poem

What have you got on your mind, she said —
That you brood all day in your chair?

What I have got on my mind, he said ,
Is neither here nor there.
Enough that the thing that is gone from my mind
Was easy to lose, and ill to find:
So, don't you worrit yourself about me;
But let me alone in my chair.

What have you got in your heart, she said —
That you brood all day in your chair?

What I have got in my heart, he said ,
Is neither here nor there:
But, as you've never had lot or part
In the thing that for ever is gone from my heart,
You needn't worrit yourself about me,
But let me alone in my chair.

He paced the power-house platform, with his eyes
Upon the dials, and in his ears the roar
Of dynamos, thinking how proud he'd been
When first he'd stepped up to control the power
That fed the mills and gave the city light —
And he, so young, a very lord of life!
He'd been so proud, so proud: but never more
He'd know such exultation.
While his wife
Had lain in agony, he'd heard her cries;
And, standing by with helpless hands, had seen
Her slipping from him, inch by inch, that hour —
That hour that seemed an everlasting night,
When life had left her, young and newly-wed,
Broken and cold upon their bridal-bed.
How life had mocked him, checking him with death,
When all seemed his — the town beneath the hills
Dependent on him; and as he began
To count among his fellows! Though he might
Switch the whole town to darkness, stop the mills
That earned the bread of thousands, and made rich
A countryside; and, though he could control
This force incomprehensible, that man,
Nevertheless, had harnessed to his need,
Yet he was helpless, though his heart should bleed,
Because his skill could not call back the breath
To that cold body; and there was no switch
To kindle in those darkened eyes the soul
That had been all the light of life to him.

And, as he paced, the whirling dynamos
Seemed mocking him: and now he seemed to swim
In a fierce raging sea of stunning sound,
Battling with roaring elemental forces,
Wave upon wave, that swept like trampling horses
Over his body; and ever onward raced,
Leaving him drowning, and yet never drowned ...
And then again, recovering from the throes
Of terror, doggedly he dully paced
The quivering platform, captain once again
Of the demoniac dynamos — yet of men
Most helpless, knowing his own helplessness;
And realising with a numb distress
That, though the whole earth blazed and thrilled with light
Beneath his hand, he still must dwell in night.