FOEMAN

I stand With drawn sword in my hand To face You for a space—

You! You! Comrade, can this be true That I Must yield or die?

Those eyes, Gray like November skies, I feel Sharper than steel....

One word Before sword clash on sword And stern Wrath in us burn

Recall The swift footfall And mirth, When the awakened earth

Grew glad Of what we had— Love, life, Not this tremendous strife.

Rose-red Petals were shed With bloom Of lilies in that room,

Where we Stood silently And heard Heart-music stirred

On chords By minstrel Lords Whose wings Moved to the strings.

Why—why Dared we to try, To prove Our love?

Wrong! Wrong! When we knew song And light And spirit-might.

So now With paling brow And set Hard lips, we two are met

To kill! Ah, would your will Make mine As grapes bruised for the wine?

Seek you To run me through? I take My sword and break

The blade— Strike! I have made Of it a cross, Counting that loss

Which holds Me from your garment-folds: The sign Proves me forever thine;

Proves that I give Self that our love may live!