None But the high king and Armid saw the god. O,
see our sun is dawning for us, ever dawning With ever youthful and exulting voices.
And last of these Immortal voices spake the Son of Lir.
I sought for graves I had mourned, but found The
roads were blind. I can stay the march of armies by a child. And I shall be the
vanishing of pain, Said Diancecht. It was I Who broke thy trance upon the Happy
Plains Revealing to thee the underworld. But they of heaven heard The tale
unfearing. Wind-quickened shook the forest boughs; Green.
I can stay the march of armies by a
child.
Say unto that poet There are too dark shadows about
us for song.
They shouted loud Responding to the call of the
high king.
What lovelier darkness, from which spirit-clear
Voices call to me, O, come home, come home!
Hartand may be reprinted only when these eBooks are
free of all fees. The heaven-descended voices died in deeps Of the kings being. For
now that poet Praises beauty that is but redness of clay.
Armid beat Upon her breast at her own
impotence.
That voice again spoke to her spirit ear. And earth
had lost its first Impenetrable strangeness and grew dear As hearth and
home.
I sought for graves I had mourned, but found The
roads were blind. And at this the king Spoke more disdainfully. Even for one frail
blossom I will make sacrifice. Forgive, O voices from the deep, Yet come again to
me. And yet It was thy will made thee heroical And rebel to that joy. The
heaven-descended voices died in deeps Of the kings being.