Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/135

116 O Earl Desmond, be you brave for sorrow, brave for sorrow which is no man's shielding; Love has wept till his eyes grew blind, and victory's not in a weapon's yielding. (Six black horses awaiting me, the ring of the spade has ceased to be.) My lord is named with a bated breath, Whom hope calls “Life” and despair names “Death.” And, oh, his love no world can kill! (The banshee waits on the window-sill.)