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Robert W Service - Clemenceau
Work rating: Low

His frown brought terror to his foes,
     But now in twilight of his days
The pure perfection of a rose
     Can kindle rapture in his gaze.
Where once he swung the sword of wrath
     And peoples trembled at his word,
With hoe he trims a pansied path
               And listens to a bird.

His large of life was lived with noise,
     With war and strife and crash of kings:
But now he hungers for the joys
     Of peace, and hush of homely things.
His old dog nuzzles by his knee,
     And seems to say: `Oh Master dear,
Please do not ever part from me!
               We are so happy here.`

His ancient maid, as sky draws dim,
     Calls to him that the soup grows cold.
She tyrannises over him
     Who once held armies in his hold.
With slippers, old skull-cap and shawl
     He dreams and dozes by the fire,
Sighing: `Behold the end of all,
               Sweet rest my sole desire.

`My task is done, my pen is still;
     My Book is there for all to see,—
The final triumph of my will,
     Ineffably, my victory.
A Tiger once, but now a lamb,
     With frailing hand my gate I close.
How hushed my heart! My life how calm!
               —Its crown a Rose.`
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