4/19/2023 0 Comments Edwin markham![]() The heart's lost youth like a breaking flower, It will all come back - the wasted splendor,.I will find you there where our low life heightens,.Where the white ones go to their mystic mating, There are more lives yet, there are more worlds waiting,. ![]() ![]() On dark tides driven, on great winds blown: I am out to the roads and the long, long questing, Till the Seven Seas waste and the Seven Stars wither, That to turn from love is the world's one treasonīut my song will search through the worlds for you, One thing shines clear in the heart's sweet reason, Who knows but the heavens and all their seeming If this is a dream, then perhaps our dreaming That the banded stars are in league with lovers, Perhaps we shall meet and our souls be mated, Perhaps we are led and our loves are fated, I have missed you again in the Earth's wild chances. We are caught in the coil of a God's romances. In a far, first world now turned to story, Your luminous face and your hair's dark glory, Where the old love lures and the old fire whitens, Where the door of the Wonder again unbars, I will find you there where our low life heightens, When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world. With those who shaped him to the thing he is. How will it be with kingdoms and with kings. When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores? How answer his brute question in that hour How will the Future reckon with this Man? O masters, lords and rulers in all lands.This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,.Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,Ĭries protest to the Powers that made the world. Through this dread shape the suffering ages look.More fraught with menace to the universe. More filled with signs and portents for the soul. More tongued with censure of the world's blind greed. There is no shape more terrible than this. Down all the stretches of Hell to its last gulf.To trace the stars and search the heavens for power Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave.Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Who made him dead to rapture and despair,Ī thing that grieves not and that never hopes. Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans.Inspired by the painting L'homme à la houe by Jean-François Millet, this poem was first presented as a public poetry reading at a New Year's Eve party in 1898 and was published soon afterwards. Bowed by the weight of centuries he leansĪnd on his back the burden of the world.
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