And steal from you a little silver and red
So that their lives may seem to bleed
Under the prick of a flashing need.
The old and tired smile
Of one who spies too much within himself
To spare the effort of a halting frown,
Brushed its sceptre over your face.
You gave kind eyes to your hope,
Desiring it to grope unfearing
Underneath the toppling mountain-tops.