Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/154

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REFLECTIONS

And no flowers blow but capering crests of spray:
Confess thyself a god who can but slay." . . .
But from the deeps the deep Voice answer'd, Nay.

*

Half startled, still in reverie unaware,
He cried again as one who mocks despair;
And still the surges roll'd and rock'd him there;


"Then rumble in all thy depths, Leviathan,
And learn my scorn—thy master and a man.
So answer me if thou art more and can." . . .


There came a thrill, a spasm, as when the blow
Of earthquake runs before the crash, and lo
The dreadful Voice cried Silence from below.

*

He heard, he rose, he laugh'd as if in jest,
And drank red wine. (The red ray came to rest
Within the blood-red ruby on his breast):


"Art thou then there, down there, O damnèd dumb
Bold braggard, born to threaten yet succumb—
For ever overcoming e'er o'ercome?


What though thou roarest, still I will not bow
To thee, all-mighty, my God-gifted brow;
A mortal; yet, immortal, more than thou."

*

So said. Night fell. But from the deep below
A giant Hand emerged, enormous, slow:
And drew him down. And the Voice answer'd, So.


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