Xxiv

With eyes that seem to ache with tears I look beyond the twilight fields: The stars swing down their shimmering shields, And fill the phalanx of their spears. I can not see, I only know A flower dies beneath my feet; The fragrance of its death is sweet And bitter as my heart’s own woe.

With thoughts that find not what they seek I question Earth and Heaven, and find That they are dark and I am blind, And in my blindness very weak. I do not know, I only feel Behind all death a purpose stands, With hallowed and magnetic hands, Beneficent and strong to heal.