Prayer
White, O white face—
from disenchanted days
wither alike dark rose
and fiery bays:
no gift within our hands,
nor strength to praise,
only defeat and silence;
though we lift hands, disenchanted,
of small strength, nor raise
branch of the laurel
or the light of torch,
but fold the garment
on the riven locks,
yet hear, all—merciful, and touch
the fore—head, dim, unlit of pride and thought,
Mistress–be near!
Give back the glamour to our will,
the thought; give back the tool,
the chisel; once we wrought
things not unworthy,
sandal and steel—clasp;
silver and steel, the coat
with white leaf—pattern
at the arm and throat:
silver and metal, hammered for the ridge
of shield and helmet—rim;
white silver with the darker hammered in,
belt, staff and magic spear—shaft
with the gilt spark at the point and hilt.
