With little wings and lantern eyes,As though he sank through the under-skies; But down and down he went.
As he went down to the river-hut He went as one that fell;Seeing the high forest domes and sparsDim green or torn with golden scars,As the proud look up at the evil stars, In the red heavens of hell.
For he must meet by the river-hut Them he had bidden to arm,Mark from the towers of ItalyAnd Colan of the Sacred Tree,And Eldred who beside the sea Held heavily his farm.
The roof leaned gaping to the grass, As a monstrous mushroom lies;Echoing and empty seemed the place;But opened in a little spaceA great grey woman, with scarred face And strong and humbled eyes.
King Alfred was but a meagre man, Bright eyed, but lean and pale;
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