What do you read in the misty moon?
Loss of love, and sorrows’ swoon.
What is your dream in the driving dust?
Of bodies that bleach and swords that rust.
What do you feel when the hailstones rattle?
Spent shot, and the brunt of battle.
Oh, what do you say when the sun sinks down
Behind the spires of London town?
The last red gleam, as he fails forlorn,
Is the drooping fag of a cause outworn.
What do you see when the stars shine bright,
Serried and still, in the vast o’ the night,
Above the wind as he wandereth?
The souls of the brave that have done with death!
Lords and ladies, fair and fine,
None of you see with these eyes of mine!
Prince and peer and potentate,
Never a man of you keeps my state!
Mockers that mock and cowards that crawl,
I have the laugh of you, one and all!