Over the Brazier

by Robert Graves

BIG WORDS

"I've whined of coming death, but now, no more!

It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I,

Though still a boy if years are counted, why!

I've lived those years from roof to cellar-floor,

And feel, like grey-beards touching their fourscore,

Ready, so soon as the need comes, to die:

And I'm satisfied.

For winning confidence in those quiet days

Of peace, poised sickly on the precipice side

Of Lliwedd crag by Snowdon, and in war

Finding it firmlier with me than before;

Winning a faith in the wisdom of God's ways

That once I lost, finding it justified

Even in this chaos; winning love that stays

And warms the heart like wine at Easter-tide;

Having earlier tried

False loves in plenty; oh! my cup of praise

Brims over, and I know I'll feel small sorrow,

Confess no sins and make no weak delays

If death ends all and I must die to-morrow."

But on the firestep, waiting to attack,

He cursed, prayed, sweated, wished the proud words back.

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