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Title: Youth
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan [
More Titles by Dargan]
He hears the hour's low hint and springs
To the chariot-side of Truth, while fast
The wild car swings
Through dust and cloud;
And the watchful elders, prophet-proud,
Give o'er his bones
To the wracking stones--
But he has passed!
A weft of sky, and castles stare
High from a wizard shore,
Sun-arrowed, tower-strong;
Gold parapets in air
Down-pour, down-pour
Sea-falls of peri song;
Then earth, the dragon's lair;
Cave eyes and burning breath;
And the lance the Grail lords bore
This day flies swift and fair,
This day of the dragon's death.
Must doff the wind-wreath, find thee lone?
Put on meek age's hood?
Feel but the frost within the dawn?
Wrap courage in a swaddling mood?
His bare throat flings
All-powered nay;
The world, his vast, unfingered lyre,
Stirs in her thousand strings;
Lit with redemptive flame
Burns miracle desire,
And dedicated day
Is long as freedom's dream.
Youth of the lance, youth of the lyre,
How far, how far shalt go?
Where will the halting be?
Sun-courier, whose roads of fire
Bridge God's delay,
The hearts that know thee, ah, they know,
Ageless in clay,
Sole immortality!
[The end]
Olive Tilford Dargan's poem: Youth
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