The Call
Hark! 'tis the rush of the horses,
The crash of the galloping gun!
The stars are out of their courses;
The hour of Doom has begun.
Leap from thy scabbard, O sword!
Leap! 'Tis the Day of the Lord!
Prate not of peace any longer,
Laughter and idlesse and ease!
Up, every man that is stronger!
Leave but the priest on his knees!
Quick, every hand to the hilt!
Who striketh not—his the guilt!
Call not each man on his brother!
Cry not to Heaven to save!
Thou art the man—not another—
Thou, to off glove and out glaive!
Fight, ye who ne'er fought before!
Fight, ye old fighting-men more!
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 14
Here, hold this glove (this milk-white cheveril glove)
Not quaintly over-wrought with curious knots,
Not deckt with golden spangs, nor silver spots,
Yet wholesome for thy hand as thou shall prove.
Ah no; (sweet boy) place this glove neere thy heart,
Weare it, and lodge it still within thy brest,
So shall thou make me (most unhappy), blest.
So shalt thou rid my paine, and ease my smart:
How can that be (perhaps) thou wilt reply,
A glove is for the hand not for the heart,
Nor can it well be prov'd by common art,
Nor reasons rule. To this, thus answere I:
If thou from glove do'st take away the g,
Then glove is love: and so I send it thee.
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Galloping Horses
Oh, this is the week when no rhymster may rhyme
On the joy of the bush or the ills of the time,
Nor pour out his soul in delectable rhythm
Of women and wine and the lure they have with 'em,
Nor pen philosophic if foolish discourses,
Because of the fury of galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping thro' the refrain -
The lure and the lilt of it beat on the brain.
Strive as you may for Arcadian Themes,
The silks and the saddles will weave thro' your dreams.
Surging, and urging the visions aside
For a lyrical lay of equestrian pride,
For the roar of the race and the call of the courses,
And galloping, galloping, galloping horses.
This is the week for the apotheosis
Of Horse in his glory, from tail to proboscis.
That curious quadrupled, proud and aloof,
That holds all the land under thrall of his hoof.
All creeds and conditions, all factions and forces,
All, all must give way to the galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping - sinner and saint
March to the metre, releasing restraint.
If it isn't the Cup it's the Oaks or the Steeple
That wraps in its magic the minds of the people.
Whether they seek it for profit or pleasure,
They all, willy-nilly, must dance to the measure.
The mood of the moment in all men endorses
The glamorous game and the galloping horses
Galloping horses - jockeys and courses
They gallop, we gallop with galloping horses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Voice Calling
IN the hush of April weather,
With the bees in budding heather,
And the white clouds floating, floating, and the sunshine falling broad;
While my children down the hill
Run and leap, and I sit still,--
Through the silence, through the silence art Thou calling, O my God?
Through my husband's voice that prayeth,
Though he knows not what he sayeth,
Is it Thou who in Thy Holy Word hast solemn words for me?
And when he clasps me fast,
And smiles fondly o'er the past,
And talks, hopeful, of the future--Lord, do I hear only Thee?
Not in terror nor in thunder
Comes Thy voice, although it sunder
Flesh from spirit, soul from body, human bliss from human pain:
All the work that was to do,
All the joys so sweet and new
Which Thou shewed'st me in a vision--Moses-like--and hid'st again.
From this Pisgah, lying humbled,
The long desert where I stumbled,
And the fair plains I shall never reach, seem equal, clear and far:
On this mountain-top of ease
Thou wilt bury me in peace;
While my tribes march onward, unto Canaan and war.
In my boy's loud laughter ringing,
In the sigh more soft than singing
Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast,
After every voice most dear
Comes a whisper--'Rest not here.'
And the rest Thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?
'Lord, a little, little longer!'
Sobs the earth-love, growing stronger:
He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days.
And heaven were scarcely heaven
If these lambs which Thou hast given
Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.
Lord, it is not fear of dying
Nor an impious denying
Of Thy will, which forevermore on earth, in heaven, be done:
But the love that desperate clings
Unto these my precious things
In the beauty of the daylight, and the glory of the sun.
Ah, Thou still art calling, calling,
With a soft voice unappalling;
And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;
When Thou knockest, even so!
I will arise and go.--
What, m little ones, more violets?--Nay, be patient--mother hears.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Leap Of Faith
Words and music by michelle branch
One less call to answer,
Feeling full of despair,
Dont think I can get through it,
Just one last prayer.
*and its a leap of faith,
When you believe theres someone out there,
Its a leap of faith when you believe that someone cares, oh,
And when I call out to you,
Will you be right there,
Right there.
Searching for the answer,
Nobody seems to care,
Oh how I wish that you were here,
Beside me,
To wipe away my tears.
*and its a leap of faith,
When you believe theres someone out there,
Its a leap of faith when you believe that someone cares, oh,
And when I call out to you,
Will you be right there,
Right there.
Waiting for the answer,
Remembering times we would share,
Somehow I feel you here beside me,
Even though your not there.
*and its a leap of faith,
When you believe theres someone out there,
Its a leap of faith when you believe that someone cares, oh,
And when I call out to you,
Will you be right there-
Bridge:
Right there---
And Ill be waiting by the window for your smile to come through,
And Ill be waiting in the darkness when I call out to you,
And Ill remember when you told me,
I could trust in you-
*and its a leap of faith,
When you believe theres someone out there,
Its a leap of faith when you believe that someone cares, oh,
And when I call out to you,
Will you be right there-
Its a leap of faith,
And I believe that you are out there,
Its a leap of faith and I believe you truly care, oh,
And when I call out to you,
I know youll be right there,
Right there,
And its a leap of faith.
song performed by by Michelle Branch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Duellists
He threw down a glove you made the mistake
Of picking it up now youre gone
The choosing of guns or fighting with swords
The choice of weapons is done
Hell tear you apart as soon as you start
You know you dont have a chance.
Chorus
Oh...oh...fight for the honour
Fight for the splendour
Fight for the pleasure
Oh...oh...fight for the honour
Fight for the splendour
Fight for your life!
Ready to start the duel begins the best man wins in the end.
A lunge and a feint, a parry too late
A cut to the chest and youre down
Seeing the stain then feeling the pain
Feeling the sweat on your brow.
Chorus
The fighting resumes, a silence looms the swordsmen move gainst each
Other
A cut and a thrust, a parry, a blow, a stab to the heart and youre down
The angel of death hears your last breath
Meanwhile the reaper looks on.
Chorus
Oh...oh...fought the honour
Fought for the splendour
Fought for the pleasure
Oh...oh...fought for the honour
Fought for the splendour
Fought to the death
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Astrologer's Song
To the Heavens above us
O look and behold
The Planets that love us
All harnessed in gold!
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?
All thought, all desires,
That are under the sun,
Are one with their fires,
As we also are one:
All matter, all spirit,
All fashion, all frame,
Receive and inherit
Their strength from the same.
(Oh, man that deniest
All power save thine own,
Their power in the highest
Is mightily shown.
Not less in the lowest
That power is made clear.
Oh, man, if thou knowest,
What treasure is here!)
Earth quakes in her throes
And we wonder for why!
But the blind planet knows
When her ruler is nigh;
And, attuned since Creation
To perfect accord,
She thrills in her station
And yearns to her Lord.
The waters have risen,
The springs are unbound--
The floods break their prison,
And ravin around.
No rampart withstands 'em,
Their fury will last,
Till the Sign that commands 'em
Sinks low or swings past.
Through abysses unproven
And gulfs beyond thought,
Our portion is woven,
Our burden is brought.
Yet They that prepare it,
Whose Nature we share,
Make us who must bear it
Well able to bear.
Though terrors o'ertake us
We'll not be afraid.
No power can unmake us
Save that which has made.
Nor yet beyond reason
Or hope shall we fall--
All things have their season,
And Mercy crowns all!
Then, doubt not, ye fearful--
The Eternal is King--
Up, heart, and be cheerful,
And lustily sing:--
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A Hole
Brother where art thou?
Hidden under screen doors?
Did they grow like choke weeds
Around the tree?
Are they silencing your trap?
Brother where art thou?
In berry bushes, a wine flavor?
Did you forget the clippers?
Did you let the screen sprout
Like a city from the desert?
Something that should not be there?
Brother where art thou?
Did we not come from the same womb?
Will we not have the same last name
on our tomb?
Do you remember the skyscraper you built
from the sand?
Do you remember what we shared...
The way we were, hand in hand?
Brother where art thou?
I miss you so.
Brother where art thou?
Did the oil rag you tossed at my feet
Leave longer lasting marks?
Has the engine refused to turn over
a new leaf?
Do you know my agony?
Does the bunk bed bring you nightmares?
Brother where art thou?
How can you sit so close, yet be so far away?
When is the last time that your heart
saw the light of day?
Do you remember the s**t? the grime?
The f***ing Superbowl?
The knives we could've pulled out
of each others backs?
Do you remember what I made in the sand
next to your skyscraper?
It was a... well you know.
poem by Martin Byrne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Warrior's Prayer
Long since, in sore distress, I heard one pray,
'Lord, who prevailest with resistless might,
Ever from war and strife keep me away,
My battles fight!'
I know not if I play the Pharisee,
And if my brother after all be right;
But mine shall be the warrior's plea to thee--
Strength for the fight.
I do not ask that thou shalt front the fray,
And drive the warring foeman from my sight;
I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day,
Strength for the fight!
When foes upon me press, let me not quail
Nor think to turn me into coward flight.
I only ask, to make mine arms prevail,
Strength for the fight!
Still let mine eyes look ever on the foe,
Still let mine armor case me strong and bright;
And grant me, as I deal each righteous blow,
Strength for the fight!
And when, at eventide, the fray is done,
My soul to Death's bedchamber do thou light,
And give me, be the field or lost or won,
Rest from the fight!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Sword
THE FORGING OF THE SWORD.
At the forging of the Sword--
The mountain roots were stirr'd,
Like the heart-beats of a bird;
Like flax the tall trees wav'd,
So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
So loud the hammers fell,
The thrice seal'd gates of Hell,
Burst wide their glowing jaws;
Deep roaring, at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
Kind mother Earth was rent,
Like an Arab's dusky tent,
And monster-like she fed--
On her children; at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
So loud the blows they gave,
Up sprang the panting wave;
And blind and furious slew,
Shrill-shouting to the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
The startled air swift whirl'd
The red flames round the world,
From the Anvil where was smitten,
The steel, the Forgers wrought into the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
The Maid and Matron fled,
And hid them with the dead;
Fierce prophets sang their doom,
More deadly, than the wounding of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
Swift leap'd the quiet hearts,
In the meadows and the marts;
The tides of men were drawn,
By the gleaming sickle-planet of the Sword!
* * * * *
Thus wert thou forged, O lissome sword;
On such dusk anvil wert thou wrought;
In such red flames thy metal fused!
From such deep hells that metal brought;
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
Less than the Gods by some small span,
Slim sword, how great thy lieges be!
Glint but in _one_ wild camp-fire's light,
Thy God-like vassals rush to thee.
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
Sharp, God, how vast thy altars be!
Green vallies, sacrificial cups,
Flow with the purple lees of blood;
Its smoke is round the mountain tops.
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
O amorous God, fierce lover thou!
Bright sultan of a million brides,
Thou know'st no rival to _thy_ kiss,
Thy loves are _thine_ whate're betides,
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord.
Unflesh thee, sword! No more, no more,
Thy steel no more shall sting and shine,
Pass thro' the fusing fires again;
And learn to prune the laughing vine.
Fall sword, dread lord, with one accord,
The plough and hook we'll own as lord!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Almighty Comes To Defend With A Rescue
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles from a saddle I no longer sit!
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles from a saddle I no longer sit!
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
I...
Do believe,
My Creator has a plan for me.
Without those battles,
Fought straddled to a saddle.
And I don't,
Fight any battle
Strapped high on any saddle.
No I don't,
Fight any battle
Strapped high on any saddle.
My Almighty comes,
To defend
With a rescue.
And to fight my battles.
Those battles fought from saddles.
My Almighty comes,
To defend
With a rescue.
And to fight my battles.
Those battles fought from saddles.
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles from a saddle I no longer sit!
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles from a saddle I no longer sit!
No more fighting battles.
No more fighting battles.
My Almighty comes,
To defend
With a rescue.
And to fight my battles.
Those battles fought from saddles.
My Almighty comes,
To defend
With a rescue.
And to fight my battles.
Those battles fought from saddles.
My Almighty comes,
To defend
With a rescue.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To rest on pride
the faster we fight the faster we fall
ignoring what matters most of all
the poeple we leave behind
but we rest on our pride so to this we are blind
the greatest thing a warior can do is lay his sword down
to stop all the fighting and just look around
we all fight other petty difrences and our pride
so we take at our swords we will not hide
but what happens if we do not fight
we just sat down and made thing right
it would save alot of lives and pain
but us humans see war as a game
we call a selfs a intelligent race
but from all i can see we are a disgrace
A Song On A Sigh
O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde,
In all thy cavernes canst thou finde
A vapor, fume, a gale or blast
Like to a sigh which love doth cast?
Can any whirlwynde in thy vault
Plough upp earth's breast with like assault?
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
If thou be wynde, O then refrayne
From wracking whiles I thus complayne:
If thou be wynde then light thou art,
Yet O! how heavy is my hart!
If thou be wynde then purge thy way,
Lett cares that clogge thy force obey.
Goe wynde and blow thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Those blasts of sighing raised are
By influence of my bright starre;
Their Æolus from whom they came
Is love that straynes to blow his flame,
The powerfull sway of whose behest
Makes hearth and bellowes of my breast.
Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Know 'tis a wynde that longs to blowe
Upon my Saint wherere shee goe,
And stealing through her fanne it beares
Soft errands to her lippes and eares,
And then perhapps a passage makes
Downe to her heart when breath shee takes.
Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Yes, gentle gale, trye that againe,
O doe not passe from mee in vayne,
Goe mingle with her soule divine
Ingendring spiritts like to mine:
Yea take my soule along with thee
To worke a stronger sympathie:
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
My soule, before my grosser part,
Thus to her heaven should departe,
And where the body cannott lye
On wings of wynde my soule shall flye:
If not one soule our bodies joyne,
One body shall our soules confine,
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
poem by William Strode
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Intrigue
THOU art my love
And thou art the peace of sundown
When the blue shadows soothe
And the grasses and the leaves sleep
To the song of the little brooks
Woe is me.
Thou art my love,
And thou art a storm
That breaks black in the sky
And, sweeping headlong,
Drenches and cowers each tree
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl
Woe is me!
Thou art my love
And thou art a tinsel thing
And I in my play
Broke thee easily
And from the little fragments
Arose my long sorrow
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a weary violet
Drooping from sun-caresses.
Answering mine carelessly
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the ashes of other men's love
And I bury my face in these ashes
And I love them
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the beard
On another man's face
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a temple
And in this temple is an altar
And on this altar is my heart
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a wretch.
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth
And your truth as lies
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a priestess
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger
And my doom comes to me surely
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes
And I love thee
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And I doubt thee
And if peace came with my murder
Then would I murder
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art death
Aye, thou art death
Black and yet black
But I love thee
I love thee
Woe, welcome woe, to me.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Be Thou As It May
Evil men come to conquer I and I
With fables from history book
Corrupt the mind of the innocent ones
Enslave and took I and I land
Took I and I aboard
Dropped I and I a yard
You claimed you save I from a mundane life
So Africans you have to fight the good fight
Be thou as it may
You cannot break I and I spirit
For he will help you on your way
So stand firm and fight the good fight
Be thou as it may
You cannot break I and I spirit
For he will help you on your way
Stand firm NYABINGHI, stand firm
Now you claim you are superior
And I and I inferior
You sailed the seven seas
Spread lies, sickness, disease
You want to handcuff I and I with your drug
With your lies of your god above
Rastafari has revealed himself to I and I
To go ahead with your evil lies
Be thou as it may
You cannot break I and I spirit
For he will help you on your way
So stand firm and fight the good fight
Be thou as it may
You cannot break I and I spirit
For he will help you on your way
Stand firm kings and empress, stand firm
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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To M. S. G.
Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were---unhallow'd bliss.
Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
How could I dwell upon its snows!
Yet, is the daring wish represt,
For that,---would banish its repose.
A glance from thy soul-searching eye
Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Yet, I conceal my love,---and why?
I would not force a painful tear.
I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?
No! for thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest's decree:
By any ties but those divine,
Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.
Then let the secret fire consume,
Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow.
I will not ease my tortur'd heart,
By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine;
Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign.
Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
More than I here shall dare to tell;
Thy innocence and mine to save,---
I bid thee now a last farewell.
Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
And hope no more thy soft embrace;
Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
At least from guilt shalt thou be free,
No matron shall thy shame reprove;
Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
No martyr shalt thou be to love.
A Soldier's Prayer
This poem is written for our soldiers over seas. May God be with them all.
A Soldier's Prayer
By: Adam M. Snow
O' Lord my God I pray;
for I am far away;
on a land, not my home;
I'm on my knees and all alone;
as I fight for freedom and peace;
I ask, 'Let this bloodshed cease.
I am fighting a war;
on a distant foreign shore;
fighting for my family and friends;
hoping that this would soon end.
I bow my head to a flag-draped casket;
to a soldier, not a rank past private.
I pray for salvation for all soldiers dead and gone;
as I continue to fight through the red of dawn;
for I fight what I believe is true;
I am but a lonely soldier living for you.
Forgive us Jesus for we have sinned;
I now end this prayer O' Lord, Amen.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Is In Heaven
Brother Martin was assassinated at a very young age.
Intelligent and determined; he was a wise sage.
I am convinced that he is definitely the only man
In Heaven.
Bro. Martin fought for everybody’s civil rights, regardless of race,
Color, gender, origin, etcetera, etcetera. He is in a better place
Right now, I feel that he is the only man
In Heaven.
Brother Martin was a very dedicated disciple of Jesus Christ,
Who did not fight back, but he was stronger than ice;
He was a peaceful warrior. I know that he is the only man
In Heaven.
There is a lot that one can say and write about this legend.
He had many dreams and great visions, He knew how to blend
Fiction and reality. He was a man of ideas and actions.
Brother Martin is in Heaven working on different transactions.
I want to thank him and his associates for their sacrifices.
Brother Martin is still alive. His dreams are alive under the auspices
Of God’s blessings to fight racism, unfairness and all sorts of inequalities.
Brother Martin is not dead. We shall overcome despite our inabilities.
Jesus died for our sins, but Brother Martin died for things
That benefit all humanities. Let the angels sing, let freedom ring
In every corner of the earth. I am overjoyed to say that Brother Martin
Is in Heaven.
poem by Hebert Logerie (15 January 2012)
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Psalm 85 part 1
v.1-8
L. M.
Waiting for an answer to prayer; or, Deliverance begun and completed.
Lord, thou hast called thy grace to mind,
Thou hast reversed our heavy doom;
So God forgave when Isr'el sinned,
And brought his wand'ring captives home.
Thou hast begun to set us free,
And made thy fiercest wrath abate;
Now let our hearts be turned to thee,
And thy salvation be complete.
Revive our dying graces, Lord,
And let thy saints in thee rejoice;
Make known thy truth, fulfil thy word;
We wait for praise to tune our voice.
We wait to hear what God will say;
He'll speak, and give his people peace;
But let them run no more astray,
Lest his returning wrath increase.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Dialogue
I
DEATH, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee:
Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built,
One shelter where our spirits fain would be,
Death, if thou wit?
No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt,
Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree,
Too mean for sceptre's heft or swordblade's hilt.
Some low sweet roof where love might live, set free
From change and fear and dreams of grief or guilt;
Canst thou not leave life even thus much to see,
Death, if thou wilt?
II
Man, what art thou to speak and plead with me?
What knowest thou of my workings, where and how
What things I fashion? Nay, behold and see,
Man, what art thou?
Thy fruits of life, and blossoms of thy bough,
What are they but my seedlings? Earth and sea
Bear nought but when I breathe on it must bow.
Bow thou too down before me: though thou be
Great, all the pride shall fade from off thy brow,
When Time and strong Oblivion ask of thee,
Man, what art thou ?
III
Death, if thou be or be not, as was said,
Immortal; if thou make us nought, or we
Survive: thy power is made but of our dread,
Death, if thou be.
Thy might is made out of our fear of thee:
Who fears thee not, hath plucked from off thine head
The crown of cloud that darkens earth and sea.
Earth, sea, and sky, as rain or vapour shed,
Shall vanish; all the shows of them shall flee:
Then shall we know full surely, quick or dead,
Death, if thou be.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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