That we poor grovelling things were fighters yet.
Fighters, O God! Begrimed, intent to kill,
But starting at all the secret noises near.
We'd sent our hearts to sleep; but mind and will
Fought the cold duel with children's night-born fear.
The haunted silence quenched the stir of fight,
The tainted wind no word of courage spoke.
We turned at last: sudden the grass dew-white
Smelt as it does at home: my heart awoke.
God sent one bird to sing: the old sun came