Aug 212011
 
Was it for those echoes alone
	 That your proud shout came and went,
	 That my near airs with your name were rent?
Was purpose pipping in the bone

Ere clear breakage lamed the story,
	 Castling attacks to faulty defense,-
	 Recovery all the recompense
For our having augured glory?

Unsmiling in slings and crutches,
	 Fools blown brown by windy time
	 Who'd been sheer kings of summertime
Grimacing at lightest touches.

Solemn cortËge of cannons mum
	 Roll evermore in breakless line:
	 Wavy Life a funereal sine
Unending, and airless, and come.

Tacit disaster's stripped to trim belief,
	 Memory turned to slave to serve
	 The forward unknowns of our curve;
This is given with what gives grief.


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