Classic Poem

Say: Who is this that cometh royally,
Up out of Edom with his garments red
Of sun and star and clay of quick and dead?
Master and prince and victor: It is I.

A strange new youth is on me not of song
Nor fiery wine, nor woman's kisses dim
But of the long night's strife I strove with him
Where face is secret and whose hands are strong.

Hear! for one great hours triumph. Not in me,
Nor any hope of mind do I rejoice
But in a meadows-game of girls and boys
Some sunset in the centuries to be.