Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
And a love of the rack and the screw.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
What may be more than my flesh.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Still persuade us to rejoice;
So I never could tell where you
In the room the women come and go
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
And a love of the rack and the screw.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
What may be more than my flesh.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Still persuade us to rejoice;
So I never could tell where you
In the room the women come and go