DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos, A great face turned to night —Why bend above a shapeless shroudSeeking in such archaic cloud Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands Lie buried one by one,Why should one idle spade, I wonder,Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven What shape shall man discern?These lords may light the mysteryOf mastery or victory,And these ride high in history, But these shall not return.
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