VII.—SONNET: OUR DEAD
They have not gone from us. O no! they are
The inmost essence of each thing that is
Perfect for us; they flame in every star;
The trees are emerald with their presences.
They are not gone from us; they do not roam
The flaw and turmoil of the lower deep,
But have now made the whole wide world their home,
And in its loveliness themselves they steep.
They fail not ever; theirs is the diurn
Splendour of sunny hill and forest grave;
In every rainbow's glittering drop they burn;
They dazzle in the massed clouds' architrave;
They chant on every wind, and they return
In the long roll of any deep blue wave.
VIII.—DELIVERANCE
Out of the Night! out of the Night I come:
Free at last: the whole world is my home:
I have lost self: I look not on myself again,
But if I do I see a man among men.
Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Flesh:
Soul I know not from Body within thy mesh:
Accepting all that is, I cannot divide the same:
I accept the smoke because I accept the flame.
Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Friends:
O all my dead, think ye our friendship ends?
Harold, Kenneth, Dick, many hearts that were true,
While I breathe breath, I am breathing you.
Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Power:
Many a fight to be won, many an awful hour;
Many an hour to wish death ere I go to death,
Many an hour to bless breath ere I cease from breath.