36
THE SWORD OF PAIN
Now on the rising wind that roars without
Murmurs and discord mingle till it seems
The Voice of the World's Wounded, and about
Me seem to be the dreams that are not dreams.
Murmurs and discord mingle till it seems
The Voice of the World's Wounded, and about
Me seem to be the dreams that are not dreams.
"Wherefore, Great Architect, whose power august
Buildeth the universe of very dust,
And that imperial Palace of the Mind
More stately than the stars; who dost not bind
Thought that can conquer Nature, and above
The power of Mind hast set the power of Love–
O Thou, who weavest through this web of strife
Strands of great agony and bloody rue–
Must we still search this labyrinth of Life ::
To perish groping blindly for the clue?"
Buildeth the universe of very dust,
And that imperial Palace of the Mind
More stately than the stars; who dost not bind
Thought that can conquer Nature, and above
The power of Mind hast set the power of Love–
O Thou, who weavest through this web of strife
Strands of great agony and bloody rue–
Must we still search this labyrinth of Life ::
To perish groping blindly for the clue?"
Even as I cried the grey walls fell away,
The long ward vanished in the glare of day,
The broad world spread before me, and I saw
Thousands lie stretched in the red swathes of War,
In rigid wreck, like fields of storm-crushed corn–
Grey faces twisted to a horrid smile,
And limbs and piteous bodies wrenched and
torn,
Mangled unspeakably, strewn pile on pile.
The long ward vanished in the glare of day,
The broad world spread before me, and I saw
Thousands lie stretched in the red swathes of War,
In rigid wreck, like fields of storm-crushed corn–
Grey faces twisted to a horrid smile,
And limbs and piteous bodies wrenched and
torn,
Mangled unspeakably, strewn pile on pile.
