But love, when all things beat it down, leaves the wide air,
The heavens are gray, and men turn wolves, lean with despair.
Ah, when we need love most, and weep, when all is dark,
Love is a pinch of ashes gray, with one live spark --
Yet on the hope to keep alive that treasure strange
Hangs all earth's struggle, strife and scorn, and desperate change.
IV
Love? . . . we will scarcely love our babes full many a time --
Knowing their souls and ours too well, and all our grime --
And there beside our holy hearth we'll hide our eyes --
Lest we should flash what seems disdain without disguise.
Yet there shall be no wavering there in that deep trial --
And no false fire or stranger hand or traitor vile --
We'll fight the gloom and fight the world with strong sword-play,
Entrenched within our block-house small, ever at bay --
As fellow-warriors, underpaid, wounded and wild,
True to their battered flag, their faith still undefiled!
Darling Daughter of Babylon
Too soon you wearied of our tears.
And then you danced with spangled feet,
Leading Belshazzar's chattering court
A-tinkling through the shadowy street.
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