Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his might
Who tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong?
The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might,
And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song,
Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along.
Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he—
No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh—
He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself free
Was it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say;
But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey.
COLOUR
Flowers, thick as stars, lay
Splashed about the roadway—
Flowers nodding up and down,
Gold, lilac, fern-brown,
Colour in which to drown.
The Channel was a dark blue streak,
With pools rosy like the cheek
Of a girl too shy to speak,
And coloured clouds went tossing past,
Warm and windy,
Vivid and quaint,
Faint and eager and vast.
Colour, thick as dust, lay
Spattered about the highway—
Colour so bright that one would think
White, blue, cherry-pink
Were made to clutch and drink,
Colour that made one stop and say,
‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’
Colour that made one pray.
Lumps of colour, liquid and cool,
Cool and near,
Clear and gay
Tumbled about my way.