They have such narrow passage between the years; The light they carry is a glow-worm's fire Baleful in the dusk above a mire; Their days are perilous; the night wind jeers Over their lonely sleep; the meagre tears Seep through dream-clenched eyelids; their hard bones Bend under their burdened hearts heavy as stones; Love is a lost sad music in their ears. Nothing is old but men who were born too soon, Brothers of broken hope inured to pain (The blossomy girls of spring have paled and died), Dazed in the wintry night bereft of the moon, Under the eaves of the dark and savage rain, The strong limbs withered, the gaunt flesh crucified. |