Ambition

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Ambition

Unless it was that day I never knew

Ambition. After a night of frost, before

The March sun brightened and the South-west blew,

Jackdaws began to shout and float and soar

Already, and one was racing straight and high

Alone, shouting like a black warrior

Challenges and menaces to the wide sky.

With loud long laughter then a woodpecker

Ridiculed the sadness of the owl’s last cry.

And through the valley where all the folk astir

Made only plumes of pearly smoke to tower

Over dark trees and white meadows happier

Than was Elysium in that happy hour,

A train that roared along raised after it

And carried with it a motionless white bower

Of purest cloud, from end to end close-knit,

So fair it touched the roar with silence. Time

Was powerless while that lasted. I could sit

And think I had made the loveliness of prime,

Breathed its life into it and were its lord,

And no mind lived save this ’twixt clouds and rime.

Omnipotent I was, nor even deplored

That I did nothing. But the end fell like a bell:

The bower was scattered; far off the train roared.

But if this was ambition I cannot tell.

What ’twas ambition for I know not well.