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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
334
VI.
‘O King, the battle goes as when
The mill-wheel circles round and round:
The battle reels; and bones of men
Beneath its wheel are ground:
The mill-wheel circles round and round:
The battle reels; and bones of men
Beneath its wheel are ground:
‘The war-field lies like Tomar's wood
By axes marred, or charred with fire,
When, black o'er wood-ways ruin-strewed,
Rises the last oak spire.’
By axes marred, or charred with fire,
When, black o'er wood-ways ruin-strewed,
Rises the last oak spire.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |