Then wearily and indolently glanced
Where the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo,
Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and danced
In the late sun, and linen white as snow
Among the beggar thoughts, with lowered eyes,
Princes and kings had wandered in disguise.
SONGS
I
On the White Road
There’s a white, white road lies under the swinging moon,
Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep,
And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon,
The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.
There’s a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees,
Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread,
And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze,
That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.