Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/108

 Watch, sleep not, gird thyself with prayer. Nay, where the heart of wrath is broken, Where long love ends as a thing spoken, How shall thy crying enter there?

Though the iron sides of the old world falter, The likeness of them shall not alter For all the rumour of periods, The stars and seasons that come after, The tears of latter men, the laughter Of the old unalterable gods.

Far up above the years and nations, The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience, Endure through days of deathlike date; They bear the witness of things hidden; Before their eyes all life stands chidden, As they before the eyes of Fate.

Not for their love shall Fate retire, Nor they relent for our desire, Nor the graves open for their call. The end is more than joy and anguish, Than lives that laugh and lives that languish, The poppied sleep, the end of all.