1910 · CLOSE READING
The World’s Tragedy
The World’s Tragedy (1910), PDF p. 89
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36
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY.
The doing is done ;
Bare is mine head
To the fire of the sun.
But thou, o my Lord, are quiet and still ;
And the feathers are clipt from the wings of the will.
Still are thy lips
And void of motion,
Like red-sailed ships
On a windless ocean ?
Hast thou no lust
To involve in a curse
The insane dust
Of the universe ?
Speak, o my Lord ! I have journeyed afar
In the wake of the terrible crimson star.
A harp between mine hands,
Murmurous and musical,
I come from far-off lands
To seek Thee who are All.
Amid my warrior bands
I rode in kingly wise :
Thy light upon mine eyes !
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