Out of a bed of
When that immortal hospital made one more moove to
The curless counted body,
And ruin and his
Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an
And swept into our wounds and houses,
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but
That one dark I owe my light,
Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is
To glow after the god stoning
And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the
Praise that the spring time is
Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows
Out of the woebegone
And the multitude's sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall,
My arising
Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire,
But blessed be hail and
That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and
Alone in the husk of man's
And the mother and toppling house of the holy spring,
If only for a last time.
