The Linnet's Wings The Sorrow - Page 70

The Linnet´s Wings The Volunteer E. Alan Mackintosh I took my heart from the fire of love, Molten and warm not yet shaped clear, And tempered it to steel of proof Upon the anvil block of fear. With steady hammer-strokes I made A weapon ready for the fight, And fashioned like a dagger-blade Narrow and pitiless and bright. Cleanly and tearlessly it slew, But as the heavy days went on The fire that once had warmed it grew Duller, and presently was gone. Oh, innocence and lost desire, I strive to kindle it in vain, Dead embers of a greying fire. I cannot melt my heart again. (1893 - 1917) 70