FOEMAN

I stand

With drawn sword in my hand

To face

You for a space —

You! You!

Comrade, can this be true

That I

Must yield or die?

Those eyes,

Gray like November skies,

I feel

Sharper than steel....

One word

Before sword clash on sword

And stern

Wrath in us burn

Recall

The swift footfall

And mirth,

When the awakened earth

Grew glad

Of what we had —

Love, life,

Not this tremendous strife.

Rose-red

Petals were shed

With bloom

Of lilies in that room,

Where we

Stood silently

And heard

Heart-music stirred

On chords

By minstrel Lords

Whose wings

Moved to the strings.

Why — why

Dared we to try,

To prove

Our love?

Wrong! Wrong!

When we knew song

And light

And spirit-might.

So now

With paling brow

And set

Hard lips, we two are met

To kill!

Ah, would your will

Make mine

As grapes bruised for the wine?

Seek you

To run me through?

I take

My sword and break

The blade —

Strike! I have made

Of it a cross,

Counting that loss

Which holds

Me from your garment-folds:

The sign

Proves me forever thine;

Proves that I give

Self that our love may live!