by Luis G. Dato
The cruel muse with tumult fills the cities,
They rear with gasping breath,
And thunder beats upon their pavements,
Thunder that came from death.
The stranger’s heart at eventide is lonely,
And weary must be roam,
As down desert-lands of treason
Faith roams in quest of home.
Love is a weary stranger, sad-eyed, singing,
In the cruel ways of art,
A weariness in quest of its women,
A youth in quest of its heart.
— Philippine Magazine