HIS war-horse beats a distant bourne Till comes the glad new year; Therefore thy wheel in silence turn, And only dream him near. He fights where native monarchs be, Where Moors no longer reign: He strikes and cries, "My land, for thee!" Amid delivered Spain. O maiden of the moon-plae face And darkly lucid eye! For knights wave-washed round Smerwick's base Fair Spanish maidens sigh! The moss, till comes the glad new year, Alone may clothe the bough; Alone the raindrop deck the breer, -- It weeps, and so must thou! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BLACK SHEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS [WHEN HE WAS SEIK] by WILLIAM DUNBAR THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS by RUDYARD KIPLING SCHOOL AND SCHOOLFELLOWS; FLOREAT ETONA by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED |