If

 

When all are headless in the room,

And fingers point, ghostlike, at you—

To trust yourself, a dubious grace,

While men with doubts crowd the view.

If you can bathe in patience's pool,

Beside liars without speaking lies,

Stand amid hate with cool detachment,

Yet remain plain, not wise in the eyes;

 

To dream, but dream not your tyrant,

Think, absent thought's heavy chain,

To court Triumph and Disaster,

Liars both, in their masquerade.

Bear truths twisted by knaves,

To snare the unaware and fools,

Watch your life's work crumble,

Yet build again with tool's dull edge;

 

One heap, your winnings—one toss,

Everything lost, birthed anew;

Beginnings reborn in silence,

Losses untold to the wind.

Heart, sinew, and nerve, exhausted,

Serving past their ghostly hour,

Holding on when emptiness reigns,

Only will whispers: "Hold on."