The poems of Madison Cawein | ||
291
II
Within a land of cataracts and mountains old, and sand,
Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o'er which the stars burn red,
I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand
And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:—
Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o'er which the stars burn red,
I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand
And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:—
“Oh, we are weary marching on!
Our limbs are travel-worn;
With cross and sword from dawn to dawn
We wend with raiment torn:
The leagues to go, the leagues we 've gone
Are sand and rock and thorn—
The way is long to Avalon
Beyond the deeps of morn.”
Our limbs are travel-worn;
With cross and sword from dawn to dawn
We wend with raiment torn:
The leagues to go, the leagues we 've gone
Are sand and rock and thorn—
The way is long to Avalon
Beyond the deeps of morn.”
The poems of Madison Cawein | ||