LORD, on this paper white, br My soul would write br Tales that were heard of old br Of perilous things and bold; br Kings as young lions for pride; br Lost cities where they died br Last in the gate; the cry br That told some Eastern throng br A prophet was gone by; br The song of swords; the song br Of beautiful, fierce lords br Gone down among the swords; br The traffick and the breath br Of nations spilled in death; br The glory and the gleam br Of a whole age br Snared in a golden page,– br Such is my dream. br br Yet thanks, if yet You give br The crumbs by which I live,– br Blown shreds of beauty, broken br Words half unspoken, br So faint, so faltering, br They may not truly show br The blue on a crow's wing, br The berry of a brier br Cupped in new snow br As though the snow lit fire, . . .