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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

STRUGGLE by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS

First Line: THE WORLDS ARE AT WAR
Last Line: THAT I MAY BE GLAD AND STRONG.
Subject(s): WAR;
The worlds are at war:
Welter of globe-dust whirling through infinite space,
Nebulous maelstroms flaming afar,
Meteors beating the sun in the face,
Wrathful star on star
A chaos of angry light and bursting heat
Where primitive passionate forces meet
Barren of mercy, barren of grace, --
A universe all at war.

The war presses near:
Storms lash out at the maddened rage of the sea,
Bellowing hill and quivering tree
Spit at the lightning's forked spear,
Serpents coil a darting death,
Sullen swamps belch poisonous breath,
And every forest and sunny blossoming lea
Shrills with the cry of fear.

War, even war in the last and the least:
Chemic war of the elements deadly still,
Plague germs working their hidden will,
Microscopic dragon and beast
Tearing at life in a bloody feast,
Minutely potent to kill;
Yes, and the stolid clay and impassive stone
Rocked with the battle-groan,
Torn with a war of atoms, tumultuous, dread,
Heaped with atomic dead.

War! a deeper, more desperate war:
War on the boundless plains of thought,
War with the mightiest weapons fought,
Timeless, ruthless, endless to burn and scar;
And all that a lover's care has heedfully wrought,
And all that patience has painfully brought,
And all that hope has ardently sought,
Rent with silent, invisible shell,
Sinks to the maw of hell.
Charge of mysterious armies out of the night,
Clash of wrong and right,
Thrust of ideas, formless, dim,
Devils and seraphim,
Raging forward and backward, stubborn to yield
War's one infinite field.

Where shall I find thee, Peace?
Where in these tumults that never cease,
Where in the eddying swirl of ether, where?
Where in my heart of sin and care?
Where in the little and the large,
Where from my day's diminutive lease
To the faint and farthest marge?

I have sought thee long,
Now with a cry and now with a song,
And now with an ache and a silence that could not find.
Long I have sought thee through the desert of mind,
Long through the wilderness woven of thorny things,
Sought thee on shining wings,
Hunted with fancies fleet,
Through the woods, the cloister, the street,
With vision eager and strong,
Or stumbling and groping the way of the blind.

Where, O Peace, may I find thee, where?
For I know that thou art fair,
I know there is home with thee, and orbed joy,
And pleasures that cannot cloy.
But I see thee not, the glint of thy diadem,
The waft of thy garment's hem,
Nor catch a whispering token faint and fleet,
Thy fragrances dimly sweet.

And yet thou art, O Peace! and knowing thou art,
Waiting, somewhere, waiting serene and still,
I face all desperate ill
With the dauntless laughter and song of a conquering heart.
As I seek I shall find, in the seeking fearless and fast
I shall find thee at last,
Peace in the battle, and Peace of the battle born
On some candid morn
When the clamor beaten to stillness will die away,
And Death shall fall on his own red sword,
And Shame shall be of himself abhorred,
And the world shall leap from its night to the glory of day.

Seeking, I have thee, Peace! in the gallant quest,
In the struggle that mocks at rest,
In defiance of fear,
Disdain of the craven goods that men hold dear,
And passionate love of the best.

When I find thee, Peace, when I sink at thy side
Panting, and proud, and satisfied,
I shall not remain there long.
Another battle, O Peace, thou must ever provide,
That I may be glad and strong.



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