Saturday, June 16, 2012

Enoch Powell: First Poems: XXX) Epithalamium

XXX) Epithalamium

Only the steel
That smote can heal;
Naught else will avail.
Where is the spear
That erst was here
In the shrine of the grail?

Bold was the foe
And sore our woe,
While saviour we had none,
The wrong to right
And again unite
The parted that longed to be one.

But saved from harm
Is the holy charm
That nevermore shall fail;
We close the lack,
We bring it back
To the shrine of the grail.

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