The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk--
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.
The men of my own stock,
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wanted to,
......
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
......
The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.
Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
......
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
Silence and safety; and his mortal shore
Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.
Someone was holding water to his mouth.
He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped
Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot
......
There is a beast,
that lives within.
In every man,
promotes a sin.
You hear his whisper,
from deep within.
Inside your brain.
under your skin.
He looks around,
......
There is a beast,
that lives within.
In every man,
promotes a sin.
You hear his whisper,
from deep within.
Inside your brain.
under your skin.
He looks around,
......
Dim lit, damp and distant corner
torn from dream of vapor’s fold.
Slow descent to worlds divided,
nothing hot and nothing cold.
Long ago this soul forgotten,
cast off in the ides of youth.
Un-forgiven deeds left hiding
beneath the stone of burden’s proof
......
Wicked aged woman,
wreaking harm with cauldron,
warty nose, crafty eyes;
Wisdom sees through dark guise!
When riding purple broom,
wild crone cackles at moon.
Warblers on crimson skies.
The Hero tried to save the world,
Plunging into chaos
With clever words,
He gave them clarity
And stole the lights from their eyes.
The Hero's hero became the Villian
Trying to save the Hero
With desperation,
And a game of cat and mouse
......
Send out the singers -- let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
Close out the sun, for I would have it dark
That I may feel how black the grave will be.
The sun is setting, for the light is red,
And you are outlined in a golden fire,
Like Ursula upon an altar-screen.
Come, leave the light and sit beside my bed,
For I have had enough of saints and prayers.
Strange broken thoughts are beating in my brain,
......