Oh, hope, white-winged, clear-eyed,
Burning with a dream that never dies,
Fresh-faced, pure with unnamed bliss;
Against the rocks your clarified dyes
Threw themselves, bloodied with full regard
Of what the world had lost.
From scorching eyes you let loose torrid streams,
The heat of such were blacked with hellish cost;
The ground seemed sighing with a sweet relief
When you had gone to change your bed.
Still---even now----the wind is warm;
Oh fading hope, so newly born, so newly dead.