THE ARMADA.
37
The fountains of song that await but the wind of an April
to be
To burst the bonds of the winter, and speak with the
sound of a sea,
The blast of thy mouth shall quench them: and song
shall be only of thee.
The days that are dead shall quicken, the seasons that
were shall return;
And the streets and the pastures of England, the woods
that burgeon and yearn,
Shall be whitened with ashes of women and children and
men that burn.
For the mother shall burn with the babe sprung forth of
her womb in fire,
And bride with bridegroom, and brother with sister, and
son with sire;
And the noise of the flames shall be sweet in thine ears
as the sound of a lyre.
