In Strange Events

If the moon set, and all the stars, and still no morning came, or

If the wise few books turned changeling on the shelf, or

If the dirty-minded enemy in such numbers came

That parleying (god forbid) seemed prudent,

'Where would I then turn, Oh, where would I turn then?

Men have burned hotter than stars for a lasting name, and

The books of memory are nowadays rainy-faint, and

Only the hatred of the dirty-minded enemy, only

This one face of the spinning god I always own,

(Friends can die and worse, and)

Remains white-hot and clear, so

I'd keep my very hate of this, if this or this, or

This were to come, were to come suddenly now.