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...LONELY BURIAL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: JANE FISHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |