War and Love/Defeat
DEFEAT
Though our hearts were mad and strong
With love for you,
Though we fought for you,
Though our remnant struggled
And not one was false,
We are beaten.
Beauty, for your sake we are lost,
For you we are crushed,
Scorn and bitterness are cast at us,
And fools who hate you
Are preferred to us.
Treacherous wonderful lady,
Despoina! Basilea! Potnia!
You have betrayed us—
Yet, hurt and overwhelmed and in despair
We can but turn to you again
And sing our love for you.
White goddess of beauty,
Take these roses—
It is our blood that colours them;
Take these lilies—
White as our intense hearts;
Take these wind-flowers—
Frail as our strength spent in your service;
Take these hyacinths—
Graven with the sigh of our lost days;
Take these narcissus blossoms
Lovely as your naked breasts.
White goddess of beauty,
Though the stars rose against you
And the steeds of the day
Were arrayed against you,
Though the might of the sea
And the menace of night
Were against you,
We would be with you
And worship you.
Ah, goddess! Lovely, implacable,
What wine shall we bring,
What cup for your lips?
Blood, blood of our hearts for a drink,
Our lives for a cup.
White grape and red grape and pale
Dim scarlet of wearied mouths,
Flowers and the music of trees,
Hills golden with sun
And the sea, still and blue and divine—
These are yours
But not ours.
We are scorned for your sake,
We are broken,
Ah, Goddess! You turn from our pain!
And once we begged of you death,
Death, quiet and smiling,
Death cold as the wind of the sea.
Now, love has lighted our hearts,
Now, though we are beaten and crushed,
Grant us life.
Grant us life to suffer for you,
To feed your delicate lips
With the strength of our blood,
To crown you with flowers of our pain
And hail you with cries of our woe,
Yet sweet and divine.
Grant us life!
If we die there is none upon earth
To feed the fierce pride of your heart;
There is none so fine and so keen,
There is none to sing at your feast.
Grant us life,
And gold lyre and box-wood pipe
Shall sound from hill-top and shore,
From the depth of the city street,
From under the horror of battle,
Faint as we faint in despair,
Yet clear in your praise.
We dream of white crags,
Skies changing and swift,
Of rain upon earth,
Of flowers soft as your fingers
And bright as your garment of love.
We have none of these things;
Only strife and despair and pain,
Lands hideous and days disfigured,
A grey sea and a muddy shore.
But for you we forget all this,
We forget our defeat,
All, all, for your sake.