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Poem	He wrote a play; by day and night He strove with passion and delight; Yet knew, long ere the curtain drop, His drama was a sorry flop. In Parliament he sought a seat; Election Day brought dire defeat; Yet he had wooed with word and pen Prodigiously his fellow men. And then he wrote a lighter play That made him famous in a day. He won a seat in Parliament, And starry was the way he went. Yet as he neared the door of death They heard him say with broken breath: 'For all I've spoken, planned and penned, I'm just a wash-out in the end.' So are we all; our triumphs won Are mean by what we might have done. Our victories that men applaud Are sordid in the sight of God.
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