Poems (Cromwell)/Conflict
For works with similar titles, see Conflict.
CONFLICT
Divided by the dark,
Our foils converge. A spark
You kindled not, My Enemy,
A spark I never drew
From bitter fires that sear me through and through,
Gleams fitfully.
Our foils converge. A spark
You kindled not, My Enemy,
A spark I never drew
From bitter fires that sear me through and through,
Gleams fitfully.
That spark, that little light,
Is lit where foils unite.
It lives in spite of us, My Foe:
In intervening space,
This little eye that darts from place to place
Sees clear, I know.
Is lit where foils unite.
It lives in spite of us, My Foe:
In intervening space,
This little eye that darts from place to place
Sees clear, I know.
Opinions are not one,
And man's criterion
Is not in us. Between, above,
The cross that weapons frame,
My Adversary, gleams a truth whose name
Might still be Love.
And man's criterion
Is not in us. Between, above,
The cross that weapons frame,
My Adversary, gleams a truth whose name
Might still be Love.