Barbury Camp

For many days we fought them, and our sweat

Watered the grass, making it spring up green,

Blooming for us. And, if the wind was wet,

Our blood wetted the wind, making it keen

With the hatred

And wrath and courage that our blood had been.

So, fighting men and winds and tempests, hot

With joy and hate and battle-lust, we fell

Where we fought. And God said, "Killed at last then? What!

Ye that are too strong for heaven, too clean for hell,

(God said) stir not.

This be your heaven, or, if ye will, your hell."

So again we fight and wrestle, and again

Hurl the earth up and cast it in a ring.

But when the wind comes up, driving the rain

(Each rain-drop a fiery steed), and the mists rolling

Up from the plain,

This wild procession, this impetuous thing.