Epitaph of a Rueful Man

Trailing clouds of glory ,do we show, Trailing crowds of phantoms ,do we go. Bliss is it in that dawn to be born, Remorse is it in that twilight to be gone. Swaddled in great expectations do we appear, Shrouded in our shrunken deeds,we say our au revoir, Soaring on high ideals to the skies, Crashing to earth through tawdry compromise, Caught up in earthly desire Brought low by lack of moral fire. We arrive to cries of joy on the mountain top, We quit this vale of tears with funereal pomp, Beginning with the ambition to be the best, Ending with hopes dashed,turned to dust and laid to rest.