Katharine Tynan

A Hero

He was so foolish, the poor lad,
    He made superior people smile
Who knew not of the wings he had
    Budding and growing all the while;
Nor that the laurel wreath was made
Already for his curly head.

Silly and childish in his ways;
    They said: "His future comes to naught."
His future! In the dreadful days
    When in a toil his feet were caught
He hacked his way to glory bright
Before his day went down in night.

He fretted wiser folk--small blame!
    Such futile, feeble brains were his.
Now we doff hats to hear his name,
    Ask pardon where his spirit is,
Because we never guessed him for
A hero in the disguise he wore.

It matters little how we live
    So long as we may greatly die.
Fashioned for great things, O forgive
    Our dullness in the days gone by!
Now glory wraps you like a cloak
From us, and all such common folk.