Song at Eventide – to GK Chesterton

Gone is the distant cry of woe
And empty is the cross
Icarus barely stubbed his toe
- He wanders, at a loss

We've risen upon bloody wings
To barren crags aloft
We've longed to see the secret things
We've earned disdainful scoffs

But still the things of beauty
Sing in each broken shard
And lost, at last, in vanity
We long for what is hard

For at the coming of the night
Is seen each little spark
And foolishly a brave few might
Go gaily in the dark

And so we sing though hope is lost
What all may disregard
Though sea and sky and earth be foes
And none shall e'er know our woes
We long to sing again the rose
And feel its bitter barb.

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