On a bright March morning after frost, the speaker watches jackdaws shouting in the sky, a woodpecker’s laugh, and a train rushing through the valley, trailing a perfect, motionless tunnel of steam. For a brief spell, that white cloud-form against the landscape feels entirely his — as though he breathed life into it, owned it, and nothing else existed. The world’s noise is hushed inside that silent shape, and he feels omnipotent, at peace with doing nothing at all. Then the train’s roar breaks the spell, the cloud scatters, and the moment ends. Left wondering if this was ambition, he realizes he cannot say what, if anything, he was ambitious for. The mood hovers between exhilaration and a quiet, puzzled letdown — a flash of godlike contentment that slips away before it can be named.
Ambition — Summary
UNLESS it was that day I never knew Ambition. After a night of frost, before The March sun brightened and the South-west blew, Jackdaws began to shout and float and soar Already, and one was racing straight and high Alone, shouting like a black warrior Challenges and menaces to the wide sky. With loud long laughter then a woodpecker Ridiculed the sadness of the owl's last cry. And through the valley where all the folk astir Made only plumes of pearly smoke to tower Over dark trees and white meadows happier Than was Elysium in that happy hour, A train that roared along raised after it And carried with it a motionless white bower Of purest cloud, from end to end close-knit, So fair it touched the roar with silence. Time Was powerless while that lasted. I could sit And think I had made the loveliness of prime, Breathed its life into it and were its lord, And no mind lived save this 'twixt clouds and rime. Omnipotent I was, nor even deplored That I did nothing. But the end fell like a bell: The bower was scattered; far off the train roared. But if this was ambition I cannot tell. What 'twas ambition for I know not well.