William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920.
The Dreamers
W
Errant and sad, our argosies must go
On barren quests and all the winds that blow
Lure us to battle where tall seas are hurled.
When over us the last ninth wave has curled,
We are renascent still. The gods bestow
Madness that lifts us on the ebb and flow.
The flags of our defeat are never furled.
Or win some white queen’s love, or storm the stars.
Yet, by great Pan, we were not born for peace!
One prize is ours—beauty, time shall not slay:
Terrible beauty from disastrous wars,
Mystical beauty from the realms of fey.