All summer long
we lay at ease
adrift
amid the daffodils;
by dawn refreshed, and evening breeze,
the while the
Sun the sky-dome fills.
Yet now behold, the face of Day
confronted is
with that of Night.
And each upholds
its war-array:
Stark at noon
the balance stands;
th’ assailants are
of equal strength.
Yet mark how,
as each day extends
it fades, and
lapses in its length!
How too encroaches
on the brink
of twilight, when the birds seek rest,
the swarthy foe who smears his ink
alike on cloud-banks, and on nest.
Thus ever did the Gods contend;
thus e’er, the Giants
whirl the wheel
of Ragnarok, while sinews rend;
until at length -- the Noon must kneel.
Soon groan the lands ‘neath Winter’s torment;
in dark the
linnets cease to sing.
Yet grant Lord, though the fields like dormant,
that from our ash,
may spring -- the Spring!
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