XLV) With twinkling eye the cloudless sky
With twinkling eye the cloudless sky
Looks through the sombre larch,
And rotting mould is turned to gold
By suns of March.
Now tame and wild are all with child;
With vital hope and fire
The world is rife; yet not for life
Is my desire.
But first to close the eyes of those
When brought me to the light,
And then before my youth is o’er
To die in fight.