Page:Eight Harvard Poets.djvu/124

The New Platonist When the fierce foreman of our race Marshals his lords of lust and pride, You spring within a moment's space, Full-armed and smiling to my side; O golden heart! The love you gave me Alone has saved and yet will save me.

Perchance we have no perfect city Beyond the wrack of these our wars, Till Death alone in sacred pity Wash with long sleep our wounds and scars; So much the more I praise in measure The generous gods for you, my treasure.

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