Gaunt windy moons bedraggled in the dusk
Have drifted by and withered in their shame,
The once-proud Thunder-Terror, fallen tame,
Noses for truffles with unwhetted tusk;
A sickening scent of civet and of musk
Has clogged the nostrils of the Hound of Fame—
But flickering stars are blown to vivid flame
When leaps your beauty from its blazing husk.

Blossom of burning solitude! High things
Are lit with splendour—Love your glimmering ray
Smites them to glory—below them and away
A little song floats upward on the wings
Of daring, and the thunders of the Day
Clamour to God the messages it brings.