My Peace I Leave With You
HE pondered long, and watched the darkening space
Close the red portals whence the hours had run,
As like young wistful angels, one by one,
The stars cast timid flowers about His face.
“Yea, now another scarlet day is done!”
He cried in anguish, and with sudden grace
Stretched forth His arms, as though He would erase
The few, dim embers of the scattered sun.
“The scarlet day is done, and soon the light
Will wake again my desecrated skies.
Oh, that another dawn might never rise!—
My foolish children!” Through the vast of night
The young stars shivered in a silver horde
Before the Infinite Sorrow of their Lord.
Eight Harvard Poets, 1917
