And I look to-night, completed and not afraid,
Into the windy dark where shines no light;
And care not at all though the darkness never should fade,
Nor fear that death should suddenly come to-night.
Knowing my last would be surely my bravest breath,
I am happy to-night: I have laughed to-night at death.
CONSTANTINOPLE
"I suddenly realise that the ambition of my life has been—since I was two—to go on a military expedition against Constantinople."—Letter from Rupert Brooke. (Died at Scyros, April 23rd, 1915.)
JUSTINIAN.
Does the church stand I raised
Against the unchristened East?
Still do my ancient altars bear
The sacrificial feast?
My jewels are they bright,
My marbles and my paint,
Wherewith I glorified the Lord
And many a martyred Saint?
And does my dome still float
Above the Golden Horn?
And do my priests on Christmas Day
Still sing that Christ was born?
EUROPE.
Though dust your house, Justinian,
Still stands your lordliest shrine,
But the dark men who walk therein,
Know not of bread nor wine.