. . . . . . . . . .
Not with vain boasts and mouthings—
But in silent, grim parade—
We come, Lord God of Battles,
To the last and great Crusade.
PART III. OTHER VERSES.
MY SAPPHIRE.
I have a sapphire rich and fair
And soft as a velvet sky,
When only the stars are shining low
And the heavens hold a mystic glow
And a hushed world stands agaze to know
The wonderful Whence and Why.
I have a sapphire that I turn
In the dark of somber days:
And the darting tongues of nickering blue
Flash deep and rare in wondrous hue,
Sharp as the lightning, pure as the dew,
And true as m’lady’s gaze.
I have a sapphire that I hold
Beneath the chandelier:
And the phosphor of its azure gleam
Sweeps clear as the depths of the mountain stream
Where the Sun-god hurls his molten beam
In the morn of the golden year.
I have a sapphire I adore—
Of varying whims and moods—
Blue-black it lies with never a mark
Across the dim unfathomed dark,
Till there lifts the glow of a tiny spark—
And again it sullen broods.
I have a sapphire that I bend
’Neath the light of burning rays:
And the flames spread forth a fairy fire,
Seething and writhing and leaping higher
Till they come to the land of my heart’s desire,
In a glittering, blinding blaze.
I have a sapphire that I hold.
When the goal seems far away:
When the lee shore churns in saffron spume.
And the fluctuant ocean’s plume on plume
Bears down to a rock-ribbed hidden doom,
And the sky is ashen gray.