Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/45

 The seasons of death and of doubt, The night-watches bitter and sore. In the quicksands leftward and right My feet sink down under me; But I know the scents of the shore And the broad blown breaths of the sea.

Captives, what of the night?— It rains outside overhead Always, a rain that is red, And our faces are soiled with the rain. Here in the seasons' despite Day-time and night-time are one, Till the curse of the kings and the chain Break, and their toils be undone.

Christian, what of the night?— I cannot tell; I am blind. I halt and hearken behind If haply the hours will go back And return to the dear dead light, To the watchfires and stars that of old Shone where the sky now is black, Glowed where the earth now is cold.