And remember all their boasts;

For I know that the colourless skies

And the blurred horizons breed

Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed.

VI. Spooks

Last night I dreamed that I was come again

Unto the house where my beloved dwells

After long years of wandering and pain.

And I stood out beneath the drenching rain

And all the street was bare, and black with night,

But in my true love's house was warmth and light.

Yet I could not draw near nor enter in,

And long I wondered if some secret sin

Or old, unhappy anger held me fast;

Till suddenly it came into my head

That I was killed long since and lying dead--

Only a homeless wraith that way had passed.

So thus I found my true love's house again

And stood unseen amid the winter night

And the lamp burned within, a rosy light,

And the wet street was shining in the rain.

VII. Apology

If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell

Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse

To lighten hearts beneath this present curse

And build a heaven of dreams in real hell,

Go you to them and speak among them thus:

"There were no greater grief than to recall,

Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl,

Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us."

Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant

Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage,

Or sing the queens of unforgotten age,

Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant?

How should I sing of them? Can it be good

To think of glory now, when all is done,

And all our labour underneath the sun

Has brought us this-and not the thing we would?

All these were rosy visions of the night,

The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old.

But now we wake. The East is pale and cold,

No hope is in the dawn, and no delight.

VIII. Ode for New Year's Day

Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth,

Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth

And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth.

And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art,

Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it,

Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart,

For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part.

The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God's hate cover it,

Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought,

Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought

Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm

That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught

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