Forbodings are the fiends of Recreance; The master of the moment, the clean seer Of ages, too securely scans what is Ever to be appalled at what is not; He sees beyond the groaning borough lines Of Hell, God's highways gleaming, and he knows That Love's complete communion is the end Of anguish to the liberated man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: COMMON FORM by RUDYARD KIPLING FOUR LITTLE FOXES by LEW SARETT DIRGE FOR THE LATE JAMES CURRIE, M.D., OF LIVERPOOL by LUCY AIKEN THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN I WER YOUNG by WILLIAM BARNES |