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 | 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 | |