University of Virginia Library

On a midnight in midwinter when all but the winds were dead,
‘The meek shall inherit the earth’ was a Scripture that rang thro' his head,
Till he dream'd that a Voice of the Earth went wailingly past him and said:
‘I am losing the light of my Youth
And the Vision that led me of old,
And I clash with an iron Truth,
When I make for an Age of gold,
And I would that my race were run,
For teeming with liars, and madmen, and knaves,
And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs, and Slaves,
And darken'd with doubts of a Faith that saves,
And crimson with battles, and hollow with graves,
To the wail of my winds, and the moan of my waves
I whirl, and I follow the Sun.’

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Was it only the wind of the Night shrilling out Desolation and wrong
Thro' a dream of the dark? Yet he thought that he answer'd her wail with a song—