Frequented us and softly would conspire
Upon our broken glass with blue-red fire,
As one might lift a pale thing from the tomb.


LIII

He was the glazier out of Erzerûm,
Whose wizardry would make the children cry--
There will be no such wizardry when I
Am broken by the chariot-wheels of Doom.


LIV

The chariot-wheels of Doom! Now, hear them roll
Across the desert and the noisy mart,
Across the silent places of your heart--
Smile on the driver you will not cajole.


LV

I never look upon the placid plain
But I must think of those who lived before
And gave their quantities of sweat and gore,
And went and will not travel back again.


LVI