They spake, “The ages all are dead, The strife, the struggle and the glory; We are the silences that wed, Betwixt the story and the story.
“We are the little winds that moan Between the woodlands and the meadows, We are the ghosted leaves, wind-blown Across the gust-light and the shadows.”
Then came a soul across those lands, Whose face was all one glad, rapt wonder; And spake: “The skies are ribbed with bands Of fire, and heaven all racked with thunder.
“Climb up and see the glory spread, High over cliff and ’scarpment yawning: The night is past, the dark is dead, Behold the triumph of the dawning!”
Then laughed they with a wistful scorn, “You are a ghost, a long-dead vision; You passed by ages ere was born This twilight of the days elysian.
“There is no hope, there is no strife, But only haunted hearts that hunger, About a dead, scarce dreamed-of life, Old ages when the earth was younger.”
Then came by one in mad distress, “Haste, haste, below where strong arms weaken, The fighting ones grow less and less! Great cities of the world are taken!
“Dread evil rolls by like a flood, Men’s bones beneath his surges whiten, Go where the ages mark in blood The footsteps that their days enlighten.”
Still they but heard, discordant mirth, The thin winds through the dead stalks rattle; While out from far-off haunts of earth, There smote the mighty sound of battle.
Now there was heard an awful cry, Despair that rended heaven asunder, White pauses when a cause would die, Where love was lost and souls went under.