THE DYING KNIGHT AND THE FAUNS
Through the dreams of yesternight
My blood brother great in fight
I saw lying, slowly dying
Where the weary woods were sighing
With the rustle of the birches,
With the quiver of the larches....
Woodland fauns with hairy haunches
Grin in wonder through the branches
Woodland fauns that know no fear.
Wondering, they wander near
Munching mushrooms red as coral,
Bunches, too, of rue and sorrel;
Wonder at his radiant fairness,
At his dinted, shattered harness,
With uncouth and bestial sounds,
Knowing nought of war or wounds:
But the crimson life-blood oozes
And make roses of the daisies,
Persian carpets of the mosses—
Softly now his spirit passes
As the bee forsakes the lily,
As the berry leaves the holly;
But the fauns still think him living,
And with bay leaves they are weaving
Crowns to deck him. Well they may!
He was worthy of the Bay.