O ear whose creatures cannot wish to fall, O calm of spaces unafraid of weight, Where Sorrow is herself, forgetting all The gaucheness of her adolescent state, Where Hope within the altogether strange From every outworn image is released, And Dread born whole and normal like a beast Into a world of truths that never change: Restore our fallen day; O re-arrange. O dear white children casual as birds, Playing among the ruined languages, So small beside their large confusing words, So gay against the greater silences Of dreadful things you did: O hang the head, Impetuous child with the tremendous brain, O weep, child, weep, O weep away the stain, Lost innocence who wished your lover dead, Weep for the lives your wishes never led. O cry created as the bow of sin Is drawn across our trembling violin. O weep, child, weep, O weep away the stain. O law drummed out by hearts against the still Long winter of our intellectual will. That what has been may never be again. O flute that throbs with the thanksgiving breath Of convalescents on the shores of death. O bless the freedom that you never chose. O trumpets that unguarded children blow About the fortress of their inner foe. O wear your tribulation like a rose.