A youth in apparel that glittered

‘Now this one is a devil,And this one is me.’He turned away.Then a cunning pupilChanged the positions.Turned the sage again:‘Now this one is a devil,And this one is me.’The pupils sat, all grinning,And rejoiced in the game.But the sage was a sage.

Was struck with astonishment.It was thickly grown with weeds.‘Ha,’ he said,‘I see that none has passed hereIn a long time.’Later he saw that each weedWas a singular knife.‘Well,’ he mumbled at last,‘Doubtless there are other roads.’

It is as sufficing.My Lord, there are certain barbariansWho tilt their nosesAs if the stars were flowers,And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.

And the affrighted steed ran on alone,Do not weep.War is kind.Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,Little souls who thirst for fight,These men were born to drill and die.The unexplained glory flies above them,Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom —A field where a thousand corpses lie.Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.Because your…

A white processionMoved toward the altar.The chief man thereWas erect, and bore himself proudly.Yet some could see him cringe,As in a place of danger,Throwing frightened glances into the air,A-start at threatening faces of the past.

Shortens tongues and lengthens arms.A vision of their dead comes to the weak.The moon shall not be too oldBefore the new battalions rise,Blue battalions.The moon shall not be too oldWhen the children of change shall fallBefore the new battalions,The blue battalions.Mistakes and virtues will be trampled deep.A church and a thief shall fall together.A sword…

And I was overjoyed at this.Together we hastened.Soon, too soon, were weWhere my eyes were useless,And I knew not the ways of my feet.I clung to the hand of my friend;But at last he cried, ‘I am lost.’

Stamping across the skyWith loud swagger,I fear You not.No, though from Your highest heavenYou plunge Your spear at my heart,I fear You not.No, not if the blowIs as the lightning blasting a tree,I fear You not, puffing braggart.iiIf Thou canst see into my heartThat I fear Thee not,Thou wilt see why I fear Thee not,And…

I defined the measure of my pain;I knew that I was alone,Alone with love,Poor shivering love,And he, little sprite,Came to watch with me,And at midnightWe were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire.

Cunningly weave sunlight,Breezes, and flowers.Let it be of the cloth of meadows.And – good workman –And let there be a man walking thereon.

He cried: ‘Woe to my knowledge!I intended to see good white landsAnd bad black lands,But the scene is grey.’

I say you lie;For I did see youDraw away your coatsFrom the sin upon the handsOf a little child.Liar!