The poem
IN the wet dusk silver sweet, Down the violet scented ways, As I moved with quiet feet I was met by mighty days.
On the hedge the hanging dew Glassed the eve and stars and skies; While I gazed a madness grew Into thundered battle cries.
Where the hawthorn glimmered white, Flashed the spear and fell the stroke— Ah, what faces pale and bright Where the dazzling battle broke!
There a hero-hearted queen With young beauty lit the van: Gone! the darkness flowed between All the ancient wars of man.
While I paced the valley’s gloom Where the rabbits pattered near, Shone a temple and a tomb With the legend carven clear:
“Time put by a myriad fates That her day might dawn in glory; Death made wide a million gates So to close her tragic story.”