Classic Poem

The skater lightly laughs and glides,
Unknowing that, beneath the ice
Whereon he carves his fair device,
A stiffened corpse in silence slides.

It glareth upward at his play;
Its rigid, ashy fingers steal
Beneath his gaily flying heel;
It floats along and floats away.

He has not seen its horror pass;
His heart is blithe; the village hears
His distant laughter; he careers
In festive waltz athwart the glass.

We are the skaters, we who skim
The glare of life's enchanted flood,
And drive with gladness in the blood
A daring dance from brim to brim.

Our feet are swift, our faces burn,
Our hopes aspire like soaring birds;
The world takes courage from our words
And sees the golden time return.

But ever near us, silent, cold,
Are those who bounded from the bank
With eager hearts, like us, and sank
Because their feet were overbold.

They sank through breathing-holes of vice,
Through luring sheens of unbelief;
They know not their despair and grief;
Their hearts and minds are turned to ice.