In eyes and ears my spirit all was bent.
As on the judgment-day the dead past all
The Archangel’s trumpet from the tomb shall call,
So from the song the dead bones upward grew
To giant forms, from sleep of death awake,
Pillars and arches from their ruin anew,
And countless oars splashed in the desert lake;
And soon the castle-gates wide open seemed,
And princes’ crowns and warriors’ armour gleamed.
Now sing the bards, the dance the maidens weave;