Poem by Arthur Conan Doyle

«Songs of the Road» (1911). 19. Darkness

A gentleman of wit and charm,
     A kindly heart, a cleanly mind,
One who was quick with hand or purse,
     To lift the burden of his kind.
A brain well balanced and mature,
     A soul that shrank from all things base,
So rode he forth that winter day,
     Complete in every mortal grace.

And then — the blunder of a horse,
     The crash upon the frozen clods,
And — Death? Ah! no such dignity,
     But Life, all twisted and at odds!
At odds in body and in soul,
     Degraded to some brutish state,
A being loathsome and malign,
     Debased, obscene, degenerate.

Pathology? The case is clear,
     The diagnosis is exact;
A bone depressed, a haemorrhage,
     The pressure on a nervous tract.
Theology? Ah, there's the rub!
     Since brain and soul together fade,
Then when the brain is dead — enough!
     Lord help us, for we need Thine aid!

1. «Songs of the Road» (1911). 4. A Post-Impressionist
2. «Songs of the Road» (1911). 9. The End
3. «Songs of the Road» (1911). 26. The Orphanage
4. «Songs of the Road» (1911). 17. Man's Limitation
5. «The Guards Came Through» (1919). 8. The Volunteer

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