These, these are not the hours For mention of sweet flowers, Or for light whispers blown thro' brittle reeds, The smoke of war's eclipse, Rolls dark across love's lips, Cypris is silent while Adonis bleeds. So be it. It is so. And yet while come and go Sun, moon and stars, the old emotions waken Which, while we breathe, we must Feel thro' our human dust Even tho' the pillars of the earth are shaken. Oh hero hosts struck low, That a new world may know Some rest from power, some escape from pride, Faint over each dear head The shamed gods must shed Tears for the cruel pain in which you died. Never quite as before Will spring come to our door -- A red stain lies upon love's tender star. All born of human race, Henceforth upon the place, Where beats the heart must feel an aching scar. In Nature's judgment-hall, The gods are guilty all, All who stood by and let these things be done. New Hope the world may gain, It is not worth the pain -- Not worth it! -- of one torn and martyred one! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 13 by CONRAD AIKEN SPOT SIX DIFFERENCES by MARVIN BELL THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH LOVE BEING ALL ONE by ROBERT FROST FINALITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |