TWO days he rode: the sun at morn Beheld his struggling steed Toil onward, weary, sense-forlorn, In empty strife of speed. It was ambition's eager thorn That made his spirit bleed; 'The world,' he said, 'hath me in scorn; But soon the world shall read My name on every banner borne Where high adventures lead. Yet am I weary now to death, For sleep mine eyelids plead, My horse strives woefully for breath, And still no combat furnisheth Fulfilment of the deed!' Two days he rode, and on the third Beheld the tents afar Of them that mock the holy Word And flame in ceaseless war, Who smote with battle-axe and sword And curvèd scimitar, With clamour of onrushing horde And glowing chariot-car. He said, 'I render thanks, O Lord, For smitten wound and scar Whereby my spirit may attest Incarnate Avatar And Thine immutable Behest And Thee, the splendour in the West, The shining of a star.' He rode against them, and his cry Was like a sudden flame Across the threshold of the sky, And like a fire he came; Yet when the Pagans saw him nigh, They thought not of their shame That one so young, so bold should die, But lusted for his fame. They rode, they smote, they let him lie Stark without grave or name.— Within that night, across the land Which no man's hand shall tame, Came whirling clouds of drifting sand And morning saw the deserts stand From sky to sky the same | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HELEN KELLER - HUMANITARIAN, SOCIAL DEMOCRAT, GREAT SOUL by EDWIN MARKHAM QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE MEMORIAL DAY by WILLIAM E. BROOKS THE HUMBLE-BEE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON BEYOND THE POTOMAC by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE IN MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |