Though this word be a mystery, Death is most distant then.
"Death blazes bright above the cup, And clear above the crown;But in that dream of battle We seem to tread it down.
"Wherefore I am a great King And waste the world in vain,Because man hath not other power,Save that in dealing death for dower,He may forget it for an hour To remember it again."
And slowly his hands and thoughtfully Fell from the lifted lyre,And the owls moaned from the mighty treesTill Alfred caught it to his knees And smote it as in ire.
He heaved the head of the harp on high, And swept the frame-work barred,And his stroke had all the rattle and spark Of horses flying hard.
"When God put man in a garden He girt him with a sword,And sent him forth a free knight, That might betray his lord;
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