Deep grows the hate of kindred,
  Its roots take hold on hell;
No peace or praise can heal it,
  But a stranger heals it well. 
Seas shall be red as sunsets,
  And kings’ bones float as foam,
And heaven be dark with vultures,
  The night our son comes home.

THE ANCIENT OF DAYS

A child sits in a sunny place,
  Too happy for a smile,
And plays through one long holiday
  With balls to roll and pile;
A painted wind-mill by his side
  Runs like a merry tune,
But the sails are the four great winds of heaven,
  And the balls are the sun and moon.

A staring doll’s-house shows to him
  Green floors and starry rafter,
And many-coloured graven dolls
  Live for his lonely laughter. 
The dolls have crowns and aureoles,
  Helmets and horns and wings. 
For they are the saints and seraphim,
  The prophets and the kings.

THE LAST MASQUERADE

A wan new garment of young green
  Touched, as you turned your soft brown hair
  And in me surged the strangest prayer
Ever in lover’s heart hath been.

That I who saw your youth’s bright page,
  A rainbow change from robe to robe,
  Might see you on this earthly globe,
Crowned with the silver crown of age.

Your dear hair powdered in strange guise,
  Your dear face touched with colours pale: 
  And gazing through the mask and veil
The mirth of your immortal eyes.

THE EARTH’S SHAME

Name not his deed:  in shuddering and in haste
  We dragged him darkly o’er the windy fell: 
That night there was a gibbet in the waste,
    And a new sin in hell.

Be his deed hid from commonwealths and kings,
  By all men born be one true tale forgot;
But three things, braver than all earthly things,
    Faced him and feared him not.

Above his head and sunken secret face
  Nested the sparrow’s young and dropped not dead. 
From the red blood and slime of that lost place
    Grew daisies white, not red.

And from high heaven looking upon him,
  Slowly upon the face of God did come
A smile the cherubim and seraphim
    Hid all their faces from.

VANITY

A wan sky greener than the lawn,
  A wan lawn paler than the sky. 
She gave a flower into my hand,
  And all the hours of eve went by.

Who knows what round the corner waits
  To smite?  If shipwreck, snare, or slur
Shall leave me with a head to lift,
  Worthy of him that spoke with her.

A wan sky greener than the lawn,
  A wan lawn paler than the sky. 
She gave a flower into my hand,
  And all the days of life went by.

Live ill or well, this thing is mine,
From all I guard it, ill or well. 
One tawdry, tattered, faded flower
To show the jealous kings in hell.