The Triumph

When life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who came
In the whisper of leaves or a bird’s lone cry in the glen,
On dawn—lit hills and horizons girdled with flame
I sought for the triumph that troubles the faces of men.
With death in the terrible flickering gloom of the fight
I was cruel and fierce with despair; I was naked and bound;
was stricken: and Beauty returned through the shambles of night;
In the faces of men she returned; and their triumph I found.
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