THE VICTOR HOURS
[_]
(originally No. cxxvii.) [of In Memoriam]
(Unpublished)
Are those the far-famed Victor Hours
That ride to death the griefs of men?
I fear not, if I fear'd them then;—
Is this blind flight the wingèd Powers?
Behold, ye cannot bring but good,
And see, ye dare not touch the truth,
Nor Sorrow beauteous in her youth,
Nor Love that holds a constant mood.
Ye must be wiser than your looks,
Or wise yourselves or wisdom-led,
Else this wide whisper round my head
Were idler than a flight of rooks.
Go forward! crumble down a throne,
Dissolve a world, condense a star,
Unsocket all the joints of war,
And fuse the peoples into one.