Robert Farrell

Whose chasteness shone, as with the whiteness of a dove
and still whose sole ambition was to serve
a handmaid, whose devotion could not swerve,
for calm beheld deep down 'candescent pulsed her love,
...

To burst with sap, to bubble with the foam
of the snow-melting's brooks, to germinate and rise and
bloom, to speak- with the lightness of the winds,
with the purling of the springs,
...

Under the grim mortality's gaze
faithful we file, as guardians bid us,
furious ions of freedom have rid us,
Sophocles' masques, but scripted and staged,
...