Foils

I

GIVE me drifted winter-ways,
Whence, returned, the ingle-blaze
Shall like altar-fire divine
Leap before these eyes of mine.
Give me hours of hungry dearth,
That I may possess the earth —
Find Olympian banquets spread
In the country wine and bread!

II

Give me Strife (who so love Peace!)
That, when furrowing wars shall cease,
Fruitful be the olives found,
Springing from that blackened ground.
I, who so love Love — ah, — yes!
Give me Hate and Bitterness,
That, when these are past and done,
Love and I may more be one!

III

Give me sleep, that I may feel
Clotho’s hand new start the wheel
Of another day’s bright spinning . . .
And when warp and woof are thinning,
And the daylight is half blind,
Give me Death, that I may find
Life, upon some morning height
Sheen and sheer above the Night!