Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/41

Rh It stedfast sweeps as sweeps the stedfast rain;

And now the trumpet makes the still air quake,

And now the thundering cannon doth awake

Echo on echo, echoing loud again.

But, lo! the conquest higher than bard e'er sung:

Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender!

Joyful the iron gates are open flung

And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender!

O, bright the invader's path with tribute flowers,

While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers!

III—"WHAT WOULD I SAVE THEE FROM?"

IV—"WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO?"

would I win thee to? dear heart and true!

A thought of bliss, a thornless life? Ah no!

Through weeping pain, Love, I would let thee go;

Through weary days and widowed nights; yea, through