 | English Roses |  |
ARCHITEKTON.
I build no temples out of common stone;My starry throne
Disdains the marble, as the sordid mud
And tinsel bud;
But in my work are wedded blood and fire
With grim desire,
And thoughts that blossom in heroic reach
Of spacious speech;
No gems, though born a thousand thousand years,
But iron tears
And prayer and passion of enduring trust
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No harlotries of paint or nude undress,
But war's caress
Of flame and sword that meet with careless might
The armèd Night,
And leaping life that is the light of men
With human ken,
The natural touch as true as sunrise call
Redeeming all.
| English Roses | |