In whose blood is mud, and this aviling
Squalor of desire?’
Lo, with feet on fiery ashes
Earth’s foiled master casts his eyes
Round his world-abode. Time’s heir,
Freed by blood of martyrs, wise
With myriad lives of thought and care,
Into Doubt’s dim future gropes,
Black with omen, lit with flashes!
Lo, beneath his heaven of hopes