Poem: 1950
From Cornwall to the Hebrides,
In Stalingrad and Xanadu,
Across this waiting planet lies
The temperate caress of snow.
The unloved count the stars again
Where our quick hysteria sleeps:
Symbolic on his ice-hung vane
The nervous cock his exile keeps.
Nightlong from Russia through the wood
The wind relates the eternal hours
And lends our restless, fevered blood
These blind, imaginary powers.
The craft and love of maker man
Invade the stage, oppress the mind,
Where five or fifty aeons mean
No more than notches on the wind.
Yet still each human victim must
Meddle, submit to augeries;
Each instinct with ancestral dust
Assert some other truth than this.
Page(s) 134
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