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Out of white lips:—Shall they have only air that sweeps round the earth for breath of their nostrils and no footing on the dirt of the earth for their battle-drabbed, battle-soaked shoes?



Out of white lips:—Is the red in the flag the blood of a free man on a piece of land his own or is it the red of a sheep slit in the throat for mutton?



Out of white lips a white pain murmurs: Who shall have land? Him who has stood ankle deep in the blood of his comrades, in the red trenches dug in the land?

Up from the evil day

Of wattle and of woad,

Along man's weary way

Dark Pain has been the goad.

Back from the age of stone,

Within his brutish brain,

What pleasure he has known

Is ease from Pain.



Behold in Pain the force

That haled Man from the Pit,

And set him such a course

No mind can measure it.

To angel from the ape

No human pang was vain

In that divine escape

To joy through Pain.



See Pain with stoic eyes

And patient fortitude,

A blessing in disguise,

An instrument of good.

Aye, though with hearts forlorn

We to despair be fain,

Believe that Joy is born

From Womb of Pain.

The lonely sunsets flare forlorn

Down valleys dreadly desolate;

The lordly mountains soar in scorn

As still as death, as stern as fate.



The lonely sunsets flame and die;

The giant valleys gulp the night;

The monster mountains scrape the sky,

Where eager stars are diamond-bright.



So gaunt against the gibbous moon,

Piercing the silence velvet-piled,

A lone wolf howls his ancient rune --

The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.



O outcast land! O leper land!

Let the lone wolf-cry all express

The hate insensate of thy hand,

Thy heart's abysmal loneliness.

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then- in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life- was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still:

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

Darkness Creeping

Into Me

Sadness Wrenching

So To Be



Endless Drumming

Dark Inside

Head Is Swimming

Lost My Guide



Alone Forever

To The Last

Soul Is Shattered

Broken Glass



Darkness Creeping

Into Me

Sadness Wrenching

So To Be



Endless Drumming

Dark Inside

Head Is Swimming

Lost My Guide



Alone Forever

To The Last

Soul Is Shattered

Broken Glass