To the army of a king
Who is ever journeying
To the city, by whose gates,
His fair queen of Joy awaits.
GUARDING SHADOWS.
GRIM watchmen are the jealous trees
Above their moon-born shadows—Thus
May foolish men guard mysteries
To the army of a king
Who is ever journeying
To the city, by whose gates,
His fair queen of Joy awaits.
GRIM watchmen are the jealous trees
Above their moon-born shadows—Thus
May foolish men guard mysteries