I stand
With drawn sword in my hand
To face
You for a space —
You! You!
Comrade, can this be true
That I
Must yield or die?
Those eyes,
Gray like November skies,
I feel
Sharper than steel....
One word
Before sword clash on sword
And stern
Wrath in us burn
Recall
The swift footfall
And mirth,
When the awakened earth
Grew glad
Of what we had —
Love, life,
Not this tremendous strife.
Rose-red
Petals were shed
With bloom
Of lilies in that room,
Where we
Stood silently
And heard
Heart-music stirred
On chords
By minstrel Lords
Whose wings
Moved to the strings.
Why — why
Dared we to try,
To prove
Our love?
Wrong! Wrong!
When we knew song
And light
And spirit-might.
So now
With paling brow
And set
Hard lips, we two are met
To kill!
Ah, would your will
Make mine
As grapes bruised for the wine?
Seek you
To run me through?
I take
My sword and break
The blade —
Strike! I have made
Of it a cross,
Counting that loss
Which holds
Me from your garment-folds:
The sign
Proves me forever thine;
Proves that I give
Self that our love may live!