I have not found the love I sought, the laughter
That should be free as day, strong as the wind;
And shall not seek again. Whate’er come after
I know that love lies very far behind.
Yet if we live again, and are not given
Sure haven in a prison barred with light,
Ringed round by young, slim trees, a guarded Heaven
Made safe from any memory of the night,
If once again (knowing what scorn hath Nature
For that vast sacrifice her claws shall kill)
Our hands must touch the unmanned shambling creature,
And know that torn face the Beloved’s still,
Ah, let Thy saints be strong, or let Thine evil
Wear not so piteously the scars of pain,
Lest we be haunted by their broken music,
Our lives be offered to their thirst again;
For there were lights on mountains; silent places
Where dusk’s imperial purple streamed above.
But Thine accursed must gaze in empty faces
For some lost ghost of that which Thou might’st love.
And we, who served a meek God and a dying
And unbelieving went to Calvary,
Woke in the nights, to heal that frustrate crying,
Turned back, for such a wounded Child as Thee.