I MEANT to be so strong and true!
The world may smile and question, When?
But what I might have been to you
Immense, august, like some Titanic bloom,
The mighty choir unfolds its lithic core,
Not with her ruined silver spires,
Not with her cities shamed and rent,
Perish the imperishable fires
WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, lies
On thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,
Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipse
THIS perfect love can find no words to say.
What words are left, still sacred for our use,
That have not suffered the sad world's abuse,
On a sheer peak of joy we meet;
Below us hums the abyss;
Death either way allures our feet
If we take one step amiss.
LEAGUERED in fire
The wild black promontories of the coast extend
Though life should come
With all its marshalled honours, trump and drum,
To proffer you the captaincy of some
On immemorial altitudes august
Grief holds her high dominion. Bold the feet