 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
56
For the Time
Give me the robe an angel late hath worn,
Give me the tongue of wonder and the pen
Of magic which doth fetch the souls of men
Out of deep hell; give me the stings of scorn,
The rage of blood, agony of the thorn,
Wisdom of hills and stars. Let me be ten
Times tried in furnaces, and tried again,
And searched in icy wells where proof is born.
Give me the tongue of wonder and the pen
Of magic which doth fetch the souls of men
Out of deep hell; give me the stings of scorn,
The rage of blood, agony of the thorn,
Wisdom of hills and stars. Let me be ten
Times tried in furnaces, and tried again,
And searched in icy wells where proof is born.
And I will say to you a word of breath
More furious than the forty winds of night
And fiercer and more terrible than death;
And yet as holy as the words of light
That love or mercy or sainthood uttereth,
And sweeter than the prayers of women—Fight!
More furious than the forty winds of night
And fiercer and more terrible than death;
And yet as holy as the words of light
That love or mercy or sainthood uttereth,
And sweeter than the prayers of women—Fight!
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |