Prayer

White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands, nor strength to praise, only defeat and silence; though we lift hands, disenchanted, of small strength, nor raise branch of the laurel or the light of torch, but fold the garment on the riven locks, yet hear, all-merciful, and touch the fore-head, dim, unlit of pride and thought, Mistress–be near! Give back the glamour to our will, the thought; give back the tool, the chisel; once we wrought things not unworthy, sandal and steel-clasp; silver and steel, the coat with white leaf-pattern at the arm and throat: silver and metal, hammered for the ridge of shield and helmet-rim; white silver with the darker hammered in, belt, staff and magic spear-shaft with the gilt spark at the point and hilt.