129 130 131Listen now to Kneeshaw’s war-song: The forest gloom breaks : The wild black masts Seaward sweep on adventurous ways : I grip my crutches and keep A lonely view.— In wildernesses I forgot Gardens immaculate. I stand on this hill and accept The pleasure my flesh dictates. I count not kisses nor take Too serious a view of tobacco. Judas no doubt was right In a mental sort of a way; For he betrayed another and so May have had an end in view. But I delivered my body to fear— I was a bloodier fool than he. I stand on this hill and accept The flowers at my feet and the deep Beauty of the still tarn. Chance gave me a crutch and a view— No doubt chance gave me these. The soul is not a dogmatic affair Like manliness, colour and light; But these essentials there be : To speak Truth and from this hill Let burning stars irradiate my contemplated sky. Herbert Read.