There are dragons in the sky, and the horned moon is a rider,
The horned moon goes riding through gates that break asunder.
Stand wide, O ye gates, for the challenger, stand wider,
He goes challenging the dragons, the dragons and the thunder.
I am holding, I am hoarding these songs by the million,
For singers grow very wise but hearers grow wiser,
And a thin flute in the dimness of a dragon-decked pavilion
Plays only for my treasuring, for the treasuring of a miser.
When the key shall have turned on me, the silence disarmed me,
And gates at my challenging swing no more asunder,