Dreaming On Downs

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.

American poetry

Modern poetry