The gasp for affirmation that afflicts The antlike likes of Sir Edmund Hillary Going "Hoy!" and "Ho!" uphill To victory or nothing--crisp crack of pike And piton hiking the unbearable beard Of my mountain frown. Songs of many men, Undauntable purveyors of a universal "Yo!," Roar orange as their hasty campfire fades From red to fulvous daffodil to insipid mist In the diluted atmosphere, chant cheerily With diminished tongue and dessicated breath, Chant "Hoy!" and "Ho!" in their cleated clogs To victory or nothing. If I am lofty Olympus or arid Everest, What matter? So long as my jagged sides Are slatted with ambition--Not for the sole self alone, Measly participle of the universal panache, But ambition of the self's evincing hope, glad glide Of muddy spirit toward the unfeigned ephemeral, That lance of sunlight that caps the highest hill. Philosophy's inadequate to tragedy. Its ordered sighs and yipping "Yeps" Make no address of solace to the crimped heart, Heed no note of despair's cold "Nope," Corral no harmonies from a criminal hurt, Stir no elegance of elegies in Charlie's charcoal husk-- Flashed to ashes whilst stretched relaxing With a pocket book of dusty sermons Or bien pesant bon mots. One man, at his merely human height, Ambitionless as purple aster in a tub, Saying neither yea nor nay as he creeps up My rocky garments, my rippled gear-- One man who creeps without belief or wit, Who yet creeps up and up to see what's what Where winds tear pious pinetrees oblate, that One man enthroned among my bald hairs, Casts thrown shadows ably as a cape, Casts, from his little dithering if, An individual dark of vast magnificence.