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To see your taps’yls scuddin’ dune the west,

Nae muckle love bear we for a’ your breed—

Bluid willna dry like water—yet ’tis meet

We gi’ ye due, that curious unrest

Wha’ gars ye seek the deed beyant the deed.

TRANSLATION:

Rane of the Sword, whom men miscall the fool,

Has turned his galley to the unknown lands;

Now in the dragon-girded prow he stands.

Billows above the token of his rule,

Great fold on fold, the rover’s banner spread.

The hard hands thrust the oars against the tide

The war shields thrum their might along the side,

The red moon hammers down a sea of red.

Rane of the Sword, we sorely weep with fright

To see your topsails scudding down the west,

No great love do we bear for all your breed—

Blood will not dry like water—yet, ’tis right

We give you due, that curious unrest

That goads you seek the deed beyond the deed.

Deeps

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There is a cavern in the deep

Beyond the sea-winds brawl;

Where the hills of the sea slope high and steep,

And dragons sleep

And serpents creep

There is a cavern in the deep

Where strange sea-creatures crawl.

Dreamer

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I live in a world apart

A world that has no link with this drab earth.

A vague, melodious world, where breezes start

Soft joys and gay-hued mirth.

Dreaming

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The Dreamer dreamed in the shade of the vine,

The Seeker rode in the sun;

They are parted by winds and lands and brine,

But their lives cling and their souls twine

Till the last of the day is done.

For the Seeker dreams when the cold stars shine,

And the Dreamer seeks for his soul in wine

And dream and seeking must meet and twine

Or ever the day is done.

Dreaming on Downs

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I marched with Alfred when he thundered forth

To break the crimson standards of the Dane;

I saw the galleys looming in the north

And heard the oar-locks and the sword's refrain.

And far across the pleasant Wessex downs

The chanting of the spearmen broke the lyre,

Till where the black thorn forest grimly frowns

We sang a song of doom and steel and fire.

Death rode his pale horse through the dreaming sky

All through that long red summer afternoon,

And night and silence fell, when silently

The dead men lay beneath a cold white moon.

Now Alfred sleeps with all the swords of yore,

(But o'er the downs a brooding shadow glides)

Untrampled flowers dream along the shore,

And Guthrum's galleys rust beneath the tides.

Now underneath this drowsy tree I lie

And turn old dreams upon my lazy knees,

Till ghostly giants fill the sumer sky

And phantom oars awake the sleeping seas.

Dreams of Nineveh

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Silver bridge in a broken sky,

Golden fruit on a withered bough,

Red-lipped slaves that the ancients buy—

What are the dreams of Nineveh now?

Ghostly hoofs in the brooding night

Beat the bowl of the velvet stars.

Shadows of spears when the moon is white

Cross the sands with ebony bars.

But not the shadows that brood her fall

May check the sweep of the desert fire,

Nor a dead man lift up a crumbling wall,

Nor a spectre steady a falling spire.

Death fires rise in the desert sky

Where the armies of Sargon reeled;

And though her people still sell and buy,

Nineveh's doom is set and sealed.

Silver mast with a silken sail,

Sapphire seas 'neath a purple prow,

Hawk-eyed tribes on the desert trail—

What are the dreams of Nineveh now?

Drummings on an Empty Skull

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This is the word that Jacob

Meeting his death in Egypt

Laid on the brow of Judah,

Lion of all the earth:

“Nations shall bow before thee,

“All of thy brothers shall praise thee,

“Fruit on thy boughs shall blossom,

“Tribes from thy loins have birth.”

Sing-song chants from the ghettoes,

Tell of a thin limbed people,

Crowded into their hovels,

Rats who blink at the sun—

Where is thy heritage, Judah?

Lost in the mists of ages.

These are a bastard motley,

Ghosts of a race long run.

Easter Island

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How many weary centuries have flown

Since strange-eyed beings walked this ancient shore,

Hearing, as we, the green Pacific's roar,

Hewing fantastic gods from sullen stone!

The sands are bare; the idols stand alone.

Impotent 'gainst the years was all their lore:

They are forgot in ages dim and hoar;

Yet still, as then, the long tide-surges drone.

What dreams had they that shaped these uncouth things?

Before these gods what victims bled and died?

What purple galleys swept along the strand

That bore the tribute of what dim sea-kings?

But now, they reign o'er a forgotten land,

Gazing forever out beyond the tide.

Empire’s Destiny

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Bab-ilu's women gazed upon our spears,

And roses flung, and sang to see us ride.

We built a glory for the marching years

And starred our throne with silver nails of pride.

Our horses' hoofs were shod with brazen fears:

We laved our hands in blood and iron tears,

And laughed to hear how shackled kings had died.

Our chariots awoke the sleeping world;

The thunder of our hoofs the mountains broke;

Before our spears were empires' banners furled

Amd death and doom and iron winds were hurled,