Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/118



I love you, Titan lover, My own storm-days' Titan. Greater than the son of Zeus, I know whom I would choose.

Titan—my splendid rebel— The old Prometheus Wanes like a ghost before your power: His pangs were joys to yours.

Pallid days, arid and wan, Tied your soul fast: Babel-cities' smoky tops Pressed upon your growth

Weary gyves. What were you But a word in the brain's ways, Or the sleep of Circe's swine? One gyve holds you yet.