Supremacy

There is a drear and lonely tract of hell From all the common gloom removed afar: A flat, sad land it is, where shadows are, Whose lorn estate my verse may never tell. I walked among them and I knew them well: Men I had slandered on life’s little star For churls and sluggards; and I knew the scar Upon their brows of woe ineffable. But as I went majestic on my way, Into the dark they vanished, one by one, Till, with a shaft of God’s eternal day, The dream of all my glory was undone,— And, with a fool’s importunate dismay, I heard the dead men singing in the sun.