Mandragora/Renewal
- RENEWAL
OVER the heavy hills, over the drowning seas,
The shadows ride;
And the bowed necks of the gods,
Drooping like willow-trees,
Sink side by side.
While over their heads the shadows go,
Drifting, whirling across the sky,
And voices that are not voices flow,
Flow and mingle and lose themselves
In a cry that is no cry.
It must have been in a broken dream
Somewhere else than under our heaven,
That I saw the yellow cowslips gleam
And marigolds to the meadows given.
For while such murder as this is done
And shadows like this ride on the night,
How can the feet of the spring be light?
How can the sap through the branches run?
The natural look of human faces
Is altered. Delicate thoughts are fled.
Torn and gashed in blood-strewn places,
More than the heart can count lie dead.
Bow low your heads, ye gods!
While the troops of the murdered
Rush by you, rush by you on terrible wings.
Bow low your heads, ye gods!
It is not you who will bring us better things.
We have no hope left, save in her,
The ancient mother of men,
And the old ineffable stir
Of life breaking forth again!
Moss upon ruins,
Grass upon graves,
And the fragile leaves of hope
In the cracks of broken hearts.
For the faint wind-flowers will quiver yet,
And beneath impenetrable trees,
Will bloom as of old the violet,
In the ashes of these insanities.