Poems (Jackson)/Triumph

by Helen Hunt Jackson

TRIUMPH.

OT he who rides through conquered city's gate,At head of blazoned hosts, and to the soundOf victors trumpets, in full pomp and stateOf war, the utmost pitch has dreamed or foundTo which the thrill of triumph can be wound;Nor he, who by a nation's vast acclaim Is sudden sought and singled out alone,And while the people madly shout his name,Without a conscious purpose of his own,Is swung and lifted to the nation's throne;

But he who has all single-handed stoodWith foes invisible on every side,And, unsuspected of the multitude,The force of fate itself has dared, defied,And conquered silently.And conquered silently.Ah that soul knowsIn what white heat the blood of triumph glows!