Night on bleak downs; a high grass-grown trench runs athwart the slope. The earthwork is manned by warriors clad in hides. Two warriors, BRYS and GAST, talking.
What shall we do for Love these days? How shall we make an altar-blaze To smite the horny eyes of men With the renown of our Heaven, And to the unbelievers prove Our service to our dear god, Love?...
Said God, "You sisters, ere ye go Down among men, my work to do, I will on each a badge bestow: Hope I love best, and gold for her, Yet a silver glory for Despair, For she is my angel too." ...
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee, As th'u, L've, were the d'ep th'ught And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we, Thy fires of thought out-spoken: ...
Come up, dear chosen morning, come, Blessing the air with light, And bid the sky repent of being dark: Let all the spaces round the world be white, And give the earth her green again....
Roses can wound, But not from having thorns they do most harm; Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd, Deep in the soul alarm. And it hath been deep within my heart like fear,...
All round the knoll, on days of quietest air, Secrets are being told; and if the trees Speak out - let them make uproar loud as drums - 'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd....
As before, a little while after. The room is empty when the curtain goes up. SOLLERS runs in and paces about, but stops short when he catches sight of a pot dog on the mantlepiece.
The sun drew off at last his piercing fires. Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond And moveless in the grey quieted street, Blue magic of a summer evening glowed....