More Songs by the Fighting Men
As lies your own in beauteous symmetry
Behind, beyond the rise of the distant hill
Where finds the daylight first all that of me
Does make the man, your son, heart, mind and will.
Then how must I, with firm-held reins, with bit
Drawn hard, hold in my spirited arrogance,
The lust of youth, the usufruct of it,
The power impetuous, seeking ever a chance
To break away into loose licence, when
'Tis needed so, to praise you, by my pen!
There is not beauty enough in the whole world—
Could it be brought obedient to my will—
No hues of budding dawn, no colours furled
After rich sunset, in the west, dim, still;
No melodies of brooks or birds, no tunes
Which breezes wake among green leaves that lay
Upon some summer's breathing breast—nor runes
Around a lonely lake which ripples play,
Falling on quiet shores—nor voice of shimmering ocean
Whose anger sleepeth. Nay on all the earth
There is no beauty stirring sweet emotion
To paint, to sing, to monument thy worth:—
Nothing that can outbid in all of this
My pain-fraught joy feeling thy prideful kiss.
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