For all I have betrayed of scarce-born love
Into the violent hands that knew it not
Grant that at least, some fragrance unforgot
Haunt like lost Aprils men who knew of me;
Grant they behold the rainbow bent above
And learn the friendship of the silvered tree.
For all that I have broken, faith and dreams,
Youth’s dew-starred web torn carelessly away,
Vouchsafe at least that those despoilèd may
Find deeper sanctuary, in green woods of trust,
Than the quick-flowering groves of idle lust;
Grant the blind eyes be healed by cooler streams.
For all the dry-lipped knights of thirst who came
To find mirage in this taut leonine land,
Grant the tall starlight take them by the hand,
A steadfast guide; that grasses, wind and skies
Press close against the madness in their eyes . . .
Grant they forget this barren country’s name.