Battle-Retrospect, and Other Poems/Boanerges
We are but dreamers in the womb of time,
Impinged on through the play of circumstance
By outer majesties, and in the dance
Of hours and life's illusory pantomime
Shadowed and brooded o'er by the sublime;
Blind fæti nourished through the world of chance,
Our matrix and our prison, we advance
From dream to dream as all flesh since its prime.
Yet we who sensed the exaltations of war
Enveloped in the Æschylean mood
From moon to moon, who knew the immanence
Of unnamed powers, are returned therefore
Children of storm, an earthquake-fostered brood,
Dowered within the womb of great events.