AN ancient rune goes running in my blood— A small refrain That sings lost wonder and a dead delight ... And stirs old pain. From out beyond the bar of memory It comes to me And beats upon the shore of consciousness Insistently. It may be that my forebears made and sang The little air In long-forgotten time, in some far land— I know not where! I only know that it is part of me— My pulses beat To its old rhythm—to its cadence march, Attuned, my feet. I cannot sing it—no, nor quite recall Its melody In all the din of day ... but in the night It comes to me— Comes to me softly ... on the edge of dreams ... A gallant air, As of old knights in armor riding by And ladies fair. The crash of battle, and the galloping Of horses mad, Are in its music ... there are woman-tears To make it sad. Who made the song—and why it comes to me— I cannot say— Only that it belongs to me, I know In some sure way. All of the wonder and delight it sings And all the woe Were mine, @3were mine@1—back in forgotten time ... So much I know! And when the little tune beats in my brain And croons and sings— It troubles me with dim remembrances Of mad, sweet things ... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EVENING ON CALAIS BEACH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO THE DAISY (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS WINTER SUNSET by EVA K. ANGLESBURG MORNING MIST by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD IN A GARDEN by PAULINE B. BARRINGTON SAME COTTAGE - BUT ANOTHER SONG, OF ANOTHER SEASON by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |