| The White Feather |
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I’ve watched with Death a dreadful year
Nor flinched until you plucked apart
A feather from the wings of Fear—
Your innocence has stabbed my heart.
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I took your terrible trust to keep,
Deep in my heart it flames and sears,
And what I’ve sown I dare not reap
For bitterness of blinding tears.
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I have not scattered starry seed
On windy ridges of the skies,
But I have ploughed my heart indeed
And sown the secrets of your eyes.
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And now I cannot reap the grain
Growing above that stony sod
Because a shining plume lies plain
Fallen from following wings of God.
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