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Munafa ebook

Munafa ebook

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Words: 9526 in 6 pages

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s fervour of nerve God hath appointed him this: a lustful and venomous bride.

Never supine lie they, the steeds of our folk, to the sting, Praying for deadness of nerve, their wounds the shame of the sun; They strive, but they strive for this: the fullness of passionate nerve; They pant, but they pant for this: the speed that outstrips the pain.

Sons of the dust, ye have stung: there is darkness upon my soul. Sons of the dust, ye have stung: yea, stung to the roots of my heart. But I have said in my breast: the birth succeeds to the pang, And sons of the dust, behold, your malice becomes my song.

SHANE LESLIE

I drew him then unto my knee, my friend who was dead, And I set my live lips over his, and my heart by his head.

I thought of an unrippled love and a passion unsaid, And the years he was living by me, my friend who was dead;

And the white morning ways that we went, and how oft we had fed And drunk with the sunset for lamp--my friend who was dead;

Now never the draught at my lips would thrill to my head-- For the last vintage ebbed in my heart; my friend he was dead.

Then I spake unto God in my grief: My wine and my bread And my staff Thou hast taken from me--my friend who is dead.

Are the heavens yet friendless to Thee, and lone to Thy head, That Thy desolate heart must have need of my friend who is dead?

To God then I spake yet again: not Peter instead Would I take, nor Philip nor John, for my friend who is dead.

All around I heard the whispering larches Swinging to the low-lipped wind; God, they piped, is lilting in our arches, For He loveth leafen kind.


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