SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY

None will break ranks, though nations trek from

progress.

Courage was mine, and I had mystery, 3o

Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-
wheels

I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, 35

Even with truths that be too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend. 40

I knew you in this death : for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now........."

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