that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.


When the warriors came out first from their master's hall, where
had they hid their power? Where were their armour and their
arms?

They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon
them on the day they came out from their master's hall.

When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where
did they hide their power?

They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow;
peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of
their life behind them on the day they marched back again to
their master's hall.


Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown
sea and brought thy call to my home.

The night is dark and my heart is fearful--yet I will take up the
lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy
messenger who stands at my door.

I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.

He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my
morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain