Dost thou turn thine eyes away from me,
thy stern and gentle eyes,
From the error of my living days, O thou in
Death most wise?
O thou in Death most wise,
With thy stern and gentle eyes,
Then is thy sleep disturbed by doubt, thy
coffin by surprise?
Have I not trodden then the ways which thou
wouldst have me tread?
Then was it but a wind of words, the passioned
vows I said?
The passioned vows I said,
The ways which I should tread,
So have I quite forgotten these now thou art
safely dead?
Unless I take thy buried lips my final word to say,
Unless I take thy crumbled eyes to light my tangled way,
To light my tangled way,
My final word to say,
Suddenly, Death, come down in flame and
shrive me from the day!
TO A. L. O.
My soul is a white flame that has burned longer
Than Mars or Aldebaran or all the stars,
And gentler than a snowdrop, and far stronger
Than all the steel of its containing bars.
In cosmic triumphs upon timeless cars
My lordly soul hath lain. My soul is younger
Than the new-fallen dews in flowery jars:
My soul, my godly food, my godly hunger.
Where shall I place my soul for most safe keeping
From boisterous intention and omnivorous wave?
And sow it in what field for goodliest reaping,
From night to shield it and from sins to save?
Thou art my treasure-house, awake or sleeping,
Or wind-free in meadows or in the obscure grave.
THE DARK KNIGHT OF THE ROAD
Three tall poplars are his plumes,
The Dark Knight of the Road.
And he is cuirassed round with glooms,
And all his stern abode
Is loud with seas and dooms.