No man but only a God knows this much yet

[Pg 41]

Seeing us fare forth, who bear but in our hands

The weapons not the fortunes of our fight;

For these now rest as lots that yet undrawn

Lie in the lap of the unknown hour; but this

I know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of storm

Is but a warlike wind, a sharp salt breath

That bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine

720

Shall give to death or lordship of strange kings

The soul of this live city, nor their heel

Bruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goad

Wound her free mouth or stain her sanguine side

Yet masterless of man; so bid thy lord

Learn ere he weep to learn it, and too late

Gnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh,

And foam his life out in dark froth of blood

Vain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed sea

Torn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this;

 Prev. P 48/116 next