The Indifferent Ones
Unmoved they sit by the stream of life
And its blood-red tide to the sea goes down,
While the hosts are borne through the surging strife
To a hero's death and a martyr's crown.
They pay no toll of their gold or blood;
For them 'tis a pageant and naught beside;
So they calmly dream by the reeking flood,
While the sun goes down in the crimson tide.
In a Forest
Silver birch and dusky pine,
Reaching up to find the light
From the forest's gloomy night,
From the thicket where entwine
Stunted shrub and creeping vine,
From the damp where witch-fire glows
And the poison fungus grows,
High you lift your heads, O trees,
To the kisses of the breeze,
To the far-off sapphire sky,
To the clouds that pass you by,
To the sun that shines on high.
From the dusk of earthly night
Strive, O soul, to reach the light.
The Ships of Memory
The silent ships of memory creep
Across the seas of long ago;
Like phantoms, on a tideless deep,
Their pale prows wander to and fro.