Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/193

 Whose face on prison-bars And mountain-heads is one, Our march is everlasting till time’s march be done.

Whither we know, and whence, And dare not care wherethrough. Desires that urge the sense, Fears changing old with new, Perils and pains beset the ways we press into;

Earth gives us thorns to tread, And all her thorns are trod; Through lands burnt black and red We pass with feet unshod; Whence we would be man shall not keep us, nor man’s God.

Through the great desert beasts Howl at our backs by night, And thunder-forging priests Blow their dead bale-fires bright, And on their broken anvils beat out bolts for fight.

Inside their sacred smithies Though hot the hammer rings,