Now perhaps there is Peace.
But dare you say that you know it? …
The Wind caught a wild red seed,
And is wild to blow it
Far—far—far—
Over crags, soft pastures, dead sands.
It will plunge and leap to a fire
In white frozen and hot green lands.

The Wind will fan it, and fan it.
The fierce red stems will flash.
For the secret seed that began it
Is flame—sheer flame—and no ash.

So it will snatch and devour.
And God only knows when
He will reap its rank red flower,
Lest it bite and burn all men.

Now perhaps there is Peace.
But dare you dream that you know it? …
The Wind caught a wild red seed—
He will blow it—and blow it—and blow it.

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