The Night is Darkening Round Me

Why ask to know what date what clime

There dwelt our own humanity

Power-worshippers from earliest time

Foot-kissers of triumphant crime

Crushers of helpless misery

Crushing down Justice honouring Wrong

If that be feeble this be strong

Shedders of blood shedders of tears

Self-cursers avid of distress

Yet Mocking heaven with senseless prayers

For mercy on the merciless

It was the autumn of the year

When grain grows yellow in the ear

Day after day from noon to noon,

That August’s sun blazed bright as June

But we with unregarding eyes

Saw panting earth and glowing skies

No hand the reaper’s sickle held

Nor bound the ripe sheaves in the field

Our corn was garnered months before,

Threshed out and kneaded-up with gore

Ground when the ears were milky sweet

With furious toil of hoofs and feet

I doubly cursed on foreign sod

Fought neither for my home nor God

Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.

What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?

More glory and more grief than I can tell:

The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling

Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.

All hushed and still within the house

Without – all wind and driving rain

But something whispers to my mind

Through rain and [through the] wailing wind