In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markiewicz

    Great windows open to the south，

    Two girls in silk kimonos， both

    Beautiful， one a gazelle.

    But a raving¹ autumn shears²

    Blossom from the summer‘s wreath；

    The older is condemned³ to death，

    Pardoned， drags out lonely years

    Conspiring⁴ among the ignorant.

    I know not what the younger dreams—

    Some vague Utopia—and she seems，

    When withered⁵ old and skeleton-gaunt，

    An image of such politics.

    Many a time I think to seek

    One or the other out and speak

    Of that old Georgian mansion⁶， mix

    Pictures of the mind， recall

    That table and the talk of youth，

    Two girls in silk kimonos， both

    Beautiful， one a gazelle.

    Dear shadows， now you know it all，

    All the folly⁷ of a fight

    With a common wrong or right.

    The innocent and the beautiful

    Have no enemy but time；

    Arise and bid me strike a match

    And strike another till time catch；

    Should the conflagration⁸ climb，

    Run till all the sages⁹ know.

    We the great gazebo built，

    They convicted us of guilt¹⁰；

    Bid me strike a match and blow.