Page:Marlborough and other poems, Sorley, 1919.djvu/76

 Yet surely Judas must have heard

Amidst his torments the long cry

Of some lone Israelitish bird,

And on it, ere he went to die,

Thrown all his spirit's agony.

And that immortal cry which welled

For Judas, ever afterwards

Passion on passion still has swelled

And sweetened, till to-night these birds

Will take my words, will take my words,

And wrapping them in music meet

Will sing their spirit through the sky,

Strange and unsatisfied and sweet—

That, when stock-dead am I, am I,

O, these will never die!

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