Invocation To An Imagined Soldier...To You

O the half-turn in centuries
The locking of truth
How the play of the Empires
Reflect upon you
Within each soft-drawn border
And each language spoken
The river-side stone forts
The armies lie, broken

O the interplay, aggressive
Your Prussian-blue gaze
And the soft winter mornings
In a translucent haze
While the West took its chances
In release of tradition
Into each open door, wishing
Faint recognition

O light hopeful crying
In every side-room
While mourning the snowfall
And the lilies in bloom
Before I could say this
In a simple, sure tone
But now, the world--larger
And a lost sense of home

O the words and the meanings
And the deep desperation
Set still in the blood
Of the strongest of Nations
Anger erupting to explain
Certain paths
And you, by the ocean,
Too far to look back

O it is not understood
In our closed Western vision
To realize that Teutonic
Sense of revision
And you! Hidden doorways
My Auden, My Blake
Tho' far-removed England
And the difference to take

O Europe, then surely
For you are too rare
To be of this mixing
And too much, then, to share
How angry, how useless
Standing back from the fire
The center still shuddering
The bombers charted higher