The Rose of Battle

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurledAbove the tide of hours, trouble the air,And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a bandWith blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand.Turn if you may from battles never done,I call, as they go by me one by one,Danger no refuge holds; and war no peace,For him who hears love sing and never cease,Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:But gather all for whom no love hath madeA woven silence, or but came to castA song into the air, and singing pastTo smile on the pale dawn; and gather youWho have sought more than is in rain or dewOr in the sun and moon, or on the earth,Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lipsAnd wage God's battles in the long gray ships.The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;God's bell has claimed them by the little cryOf their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurledUpon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ringThe bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.Beauty grown sad with its eternityMade you of us, and of the dim gray sea.Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,For God has bid them share an equal fate;And when at last defeated in His wars,They have gone down under the same white stars,We shall no longer hear the little cryOf our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.