WHEN OTHERS SEE US AS WE SEE OURSELVES!

Day, with his blotting trumpet, overthrew

My city of dream, and, with his marshalled spears,

My thought that had the unperforming years

Amended and laid the base of heaven true;

But pitying, signed me priest with chrismal dew,

And I went telling of expatriate tears,

Of Hate cast out with all his sworded peers,

And tower-tops spiring to the gods anew.

One gibed, one wept, one with his drowsed air

Chilled me to very stone, but no man hearkened;

So to my love I went — ah! once love darkened

Her eyes, and in that darkness I could hide —

Why should they couch them? In her alien stare

I knew she knew all Christs I had denied.