To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing

Now all the truth is out,
 Be secret and take defeat
 From any brazen throat,
 For how can you compete,
 Being honour bred, with one
 Who, were it proved he lies,
 Were neither shamed in his own
 Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
 Bred to a harder thing
 Than Triumph, turn away
 And like a laughing string
 Whereon mad fingers play
 Amid a place of stone,
 Be secret and exult,
 Because of all things known
 That is most difficult.

Published in Responsibilities, and other poems

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