Chapter VII

For the eyes loved, For the face lifted In that still light, Dark trees are groved, The snow drifted, And the mound white.

And the grave dug And the words spoken And the flowers shed-- And the eyes tearless But the heart broken For the brave dead.

Though a soul thrill To the stars' fire And a mind sing To a keen will Of a high desire And a great thing,--

Ah, who listens? Who--who hearkens Or answer makes,-- Though the moon glistens And the night darkens And the heart breaks?

Lay her sword by her, Her steel of spirit, Her phantom blade, Lest the loud liar In his hell inherit What her soul made!

Sweet sword, she came To pierce and quicken My heart to grace,-- Oh, white flame, Oh, heart life-stricken, Oh, deathless face!