  Full zodiacs three the fiery sun, Thro’ maze of stars, his web has spun, Since War’s late grimy page begun To blaze its line—the bloody hand Whose lurid strokes bade Peace to stand. And, World-heart, O, what hast thou won? And, is the sad act past and done? Or, does its score, sunk wide and deep, In some blind hell fierce-copied keep, For Days, which, tho’ their loath pace creep, Oft span with strides each reckoned Far; For such—for Broil’s rude, loud, and noted star To trace once more upon the Light Yon awful cypher of the Night? |
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