Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Ecstasy

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ECSTASY
I could never be properly dead, For even alone in my grave,These songs would go on in my head, And May in my veins would rave.
No grief or sorrow or pain Could bind me utterly down;I should go shout with the rain, And burst, with June, through the town.
No ancient hurt of the stars, That scarred my heart at its birth,Could ever make silent in me, The songs that I sing for the earth.
Kenneth Slade AllingThe Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West

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