Yet had his spark not quickened, but lain dead
To the gross spectacles of this our day,
And never put on the proffered cloak of clay,
He had but known not things now manifested;
Life would have swirled the same. Morns would have dawned
On the uprooting by the night-gun’s stroke
Of what the yester noonshine brought to flower;
Brown martial brows in dying throes have wanned
Despite his absence; hearts no fewer been broke
By Empery’s insatiate lust of power.
1915.
IN TIME OF “THE BREAKING OF NATIONS” [235]
I
Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
II
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.
III