Rotation
O ALL ye myriads in the ages dead,
Princes and peoples great in power and trust,
And great in love, — all dwindled to fine dust!
Must wolfish Time with such as you be fed,
That living men awhile may keep ahead
Upon the bitter road, where ill and just
Hear, as they run, the hollow panting gust
From fangs of hunger never surfeited?
No! live again, brave world (I would have said),
Nor for our vantage in the breach be cast, —
I could have wept for pity of you, dead,
But I remembered our own fate instead, —
How, to the age that springs before us fast,
We shall become the sacrificial past.
Princes and peoples great in power and trust,
And great in love, — all dwindled to fine dust!
Must wolfish Time with such as you be fed,
That living men awhile may keep ahead
Upon the bitter road, where ill and just
Hear, as they run, the hollow panting gust
From fangs of hunger never surfeited?
No! live again, brave world (I would have said),
Nor for our vantage in the breach be cast, —
I could have wept for pity of you, dead,
But I remembered our own fate instead, —
How, to the age that springs before us fast,
We shall become the sacrificial past.
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