Of Love and Youth 'neath rosy bowers
Sensuous, mad with the wine-filled hours,
Flushed with hope and joy's delight,
Weaving rapture from the night:—
Visions of death where the harp is still
And the sun sets swiftly behind youth's hill;
Where the song is hushed and the light is dead
And the man lies with the rememberèd;
Where Memory weaves a paradise,
A mother's face, her tender eyes,
Her suffering for the child she gave,
Her love unbroken by the grave;
Where shadows gather o'er the bliss,
The rapture of a bridal kiss:—
Yet dreams where Youth (sublimity!)
Doth thrill to give for Liberty
Its love, its hope, its radiant morn,
Doth thrill to die for the yet unborn,
To die and pay the utmost price
And save its ideals thro' the sacrifice.
Thus at dawn do the watchers dream
Of life and death, of love supreme:
Flushed with the dawn, hope in each breast,
Their faces turn to the starless west:
Thus at dawn do the watches think
Resolute-hearted upon death's brink
With a strange, proud look on every face—
The scorn of Death, the pride of race.
97
