We bring no boxed solution; our flags stream out for use, not trumpet-masses
The Earth's lute, the shining heart
Over our faces the hushed applause, the wall of words that nearly killed
And something stabs into the sun before our opened eyes
How white, how calm the hours are
Our eyes are the eyes at your windows gentlemen, our hands are the hands at the latches of your doors
We hear the dark curve of eternity go coughing down the hills
The timelss bride of all our loving.
