A Finished Man

Of the four louts who threw him off the dockThree are now dead, and so more faintly mockThe way he choked and splashed and was afraid.His memory of the fourth begins to fade.

It was himself whom he could not forgive;Yet it has been a comfort to outliveThat woman, stunned by his appalling gaffe,Who with a napkin half-suppressed her laugh,

Or that grey colleague, surely gone by now,Who, turning toward the window, raised his brow,Embarrassed to have caught him in a lie.All witness darkens, eye by dimming eye.

Thus he can walk today with heart at easeThrough the old quad, escorted by trustees,To dedicate the monumental gymA grateful college means to name for him.

Seated, he feels the warm sun sculpt his cheekAs the young president gets up to speak.If the dead die, if he can but forget,If money talks, he may be perfect yet.

Richard Wilbur, “A Finished Man” from Collected Poems 1943-2004.