Saint James of Spain

Mine eyes were strong with sorrows; none other blood shall
Say

What lay on my heart for a hundred years ere the stone was
rolled away,

When crushing the vines and statuary, the rock of Mahound
was hurled,

Featureless, faceless, enormous; the rolling stone of the
world.

The haters of wine, the horsemen, came on us like night at
noon,

The veiled knights with the crooked swords that sware by
the crooked moon

We endured to go down under darkness, beholding, as men
that die,

The name of their God of Battles scrawled backwards across
the sky.

Queen, if our own gold rotted what no man's iron could
rend,

Bronzed gold, dark wine of the dust; if we stiffened and
stood at the end

A gilded skeleton army brittle and brown in the sun,
Forget not what all have forgotten; this field was won.