AT THE MEETING OF THE DAYS.
VEILED in night's cloak a silent moment came, When night and dawn, two days together, met Upon the echoing streets of flint and flame, That trailed their gold-embroidered skirts of jet Into the city's gulf of grief and shame: — And the dead day its crown of thorns did set Upon the new day's brow, so that its fame Might never die, and men's souls in the net Of labour might be caught, ever the same. So death kissed life and sealed a pact of sin We saw it, we who toiled in that last hour. For as we homeward fled, new men did come To seize our tools, and carve the dawn's red flower Triumphantly anew with pain and din! Yet we were helpless and we had no power; Like idiots lame, our souls did cringe and cower: For sleep had left them blind and deaf and dumb.