High priest, what of the night? - The night is horrible here With haggard faces and fear, Blood, and the burning of fire.

Mine eyes are emptied of sight, Mine hands are full of the dust.

If the G.o.d of my faith be a liar, Who is it that I shall trust?

12

Princes, what of the night? - Night with pestilent breath Feeds us, children of death, Clothes us close with her gloom.

Rapine and famine and fright Crouch at our feet and are fed.

Earth where we pa.s.s is a tomb, Life where we triumph is dead.

13

Martyrs, what of the night? - Nay, is it night with you yet?

We, for our part, we forget What night was, if it were.

The loud red mouths of the fight Are silent and shut where we are.

In our eyes the tempestuous air Shines as the face of a star.

14

England, what of the night? - Night is for slumber and sleep, Warm, no season to weep.

Let me alone till the day.

Sleep would I still if I might, Who have slept for two hundred years.

Once I had honour, they say; But slumber is sweeter than tears.

15

France, what of the night? - Night is the prost.i.tute's noon, Kissed and drugged till she swoon, Spat upon, trod upon, wh.o.r.ed.

With bloodred rose-garlands dight, Round me reels in the dance Death, my saviour, my lord, Crowned; there is no more France.

16

Italy, what of the night? - Ah, child, child, it is long!

Moonbeam and starbeam and song Leave it dumb now and dark.

Yet I perceive on the height Eastward, not now very far, A song too loud for the lark, A light too strong for a star.

17

Germany, what of the night? - Long has it lulled me with dreams; Now at midwatch, as it seems, Light is brought back to mine eyes, And the mastery of old and the might Lives in the joints of mine hands, Steadies my limbs as they rise, Strengthens my foot as it stands.

18

Europe, what of the night? - Ask of heaven, and the sea, And my babes on the bosom of me, Nations of mine, but ungrown.

There is one who shall surely requite All that endure or that err: She can answer alone: Ask not of me, but of her.

19

Liberty, what of the night? - I feel not the red rains fall, Hear not the tempest at all, Nor thunder in heaven any more.

All the distance is white With the soundless feet of the sun.

Night, with the woes that it wore, Night is over and done.

SUPER FLUMINA BABYLONIS

By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, Remembering thee, That for ages of agony hast endured, and slept, And wouldst not see.

By the waters of Babylon we stood up and sang, Considering thee, That a blast of deliverance in the darkness rang, To set thee free.

And with trumpets and thunderings and with morning song Came up the light; And thy spirit uplifted thee to forget thy wrong As day doth night.

And thy sons were dejected not any more, as then When thou wast shamed; When thy lovers went heavily without heart, as men Whose life was maimed.

In the desolate distances, with a great desire, For thy love's sake, With our hearts going back to thee, they were filled with fire, Were nigh to break.

It was said to us: "Verily ye are great of heart, But ye shall bend; Ye are bondmen and bondwomen, to be scourged and smart, To toil and tend."

And with harrows men harrowed us, and subdued with spears, And crushed with shame; And the summer and winter was, and the length of years, And no change came.

By the rivers of Italy, by the sacred streams, By town, by tower, There was feasting with revelling, there was sleep with dreams, Until thine hour.

And they slept and they rioted on their rose-hung beds, With mouths on flame, And with love-locks vine-chapleted, and with rose-crowned heads And robes of shame.

And they knew not their forefathers, nor the hills and streams And words of power, Nor the G.o.ds that were good to them, but with songs and dreams Filled up their hour.

By the rivers of Italy, by the dry streams' beds, When thy time came, There was casting of crowns from them, from their young men's heads, The crowns of shame.

By the horn of Erida.n.u.s, by the Tiber mouth, As thy day rose, They arose up and girded them to the north and south, By seas, by snows.

As a water in January the frost confines, Thy kings bound thee; As a water in April is, in the new-blown vines, Thy sons made free.

And thy lovers that looked for thee, and that mourned from far, For thy sake dead, We rejoiced in the light of thee, in the signal star Above thine head.

In thy grief had we followed thee, in thy pa.s.sion loved, Loved in thy loss; In thy shame we stood fast to thee, with thy pangs were moved, Clung to thy cross.

By the hillside of Calvary we beheld thy blood, Thy bloodred tears, As a mother's in bitterness, an unebbing flood, Years upon years.

And the north was Gethsemane, without leaf or bloom, A garden sealed; And the south was Aceldama, for a sanguine fume Hid all the field.

By the stone of the sepulchre we returned to weep, From far, from prison; And the guards by it keeping it we beheld asleep, But thou wast risen.

And an angel's similitude by the unsealed grave, And by the stone: And the voice was angelical, to whose words G.o.d gave Strength like his own.

"Lo, the graveclothes of Italy that are folded up In the grave's gloom!

And the guards as men wrought upon with a charmed cup, By the open tomb.

"And her body most beautiful, and her shining head, These are not here; For your mother, for Italy, is not surely dead: Have ye no fear.

"As of old time she spake to you, and you hardly heard, Hardly took heed, So now also she saith to you, yet another word, Who is risen indeed.