As lips and flesh on chilling cheeks are cherried
   With the morning's touch,
   Although they wrinkle in the twilight's clutch,
So let day fade
   And night parade;
So let the sun be buried
   But march its fires on the moonlight's crutch;

And if the sun in summer sky burns sere
   But in the winter white
   Can't but reflect itself in icy light,
Then let it burn
   The eyes that spurn
   The turning of the year;
Then let its fires singe all ling'ring sight.

As lips and tongues in chilly cheeks defend
   Their shape in shallow plots;
   Seem capable of speaking as they rot,
So peace is sought
   Though war is fought
   Not till all battles end;
   Not till we cremate those we last forgot;

And if our sons in some strange sinking hour
   Find their hunger slain,
   But avarice and rivalry remain,
Then let our ashes'
   Cinders' flashes
   Dilate and devour
   That surfeit our expansion sustains.