There is a stark, grim beauty in your world, Tragical lines of grotesque artistry. Backed to the wall, defiant, you can see Strange animate things, each with its question hurled At nothing; your dear, monstrous planet whirled In its reiterated circle helplessly. There is no pattern, no reward-to-be; Over it all a torn white flag, half-furled. Yet as you stand there naked, scornfully Pushing aside the soft creeds most men wear, You hold a clean blade lifted in the air And all the paths below your feet are free. My faith is rich and deep, and yours is bare. I sometimes envy your futility. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACADE: 2. THE BAT by EDITH SITWELL EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: 'EQUALITY OF SACRIFICE' by RUDYARD KIPLING THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE REEDS by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT TO HIS WORSHIPFULL GOOD FRIEND, MAISTER JOHN STEVENTON by RICHARD BARNFIELD |