The King's Threshold; and On Baile's Strand

by W. B. Yeats

I hear a herald’s trumpet, and await,

It may be, the heavy fleeces of the sea

And golden and silver apples or ancient crowns

Long hidden in the well at the World’s End,

Or glittering garments of the salmon, tributes

From the Great Plain, or the high people of Sorcha,

Or the walled garden in the east of the world.

[The great door at the back is flung open; a Young Man, who is fully armed and carries a shield with a woman’s head painted on it, stands upon the threshold. Behind him are trumpeters. He walks into the centre of the hall, the trumpeting ceases.

What is your message?

Young Man.