Part 32 (2/2)

Tattered her raiment floats, Blood is upon her wings.

Ah, but her eyes are clear!

Ah, but her voice outrings!

Soon where the shrapnel fell Petals shall wake and stir.

Look -- she is here, she lives!

Beauty has died for her.

The Kings are pa.s.sing Deathward. [David Morton]

The Kings are pa.s.sing deathward in the dark Of days that had been splendid where they went; Their crowns are captive and their courts are stark Of purples that are ruinous, now, and rent.

For all that they have seen disastrous things: The shattered pomp, the split and shaken throne, They cannot quite forget the way of Kings: Gravely they pa.s.s, majestic and alone.

With thunder on their brows, their faces set Toward the eternal night of restless shapes, They walk in awful splendor, regal yet, Wearing their crimes like rich and kingly capes . . .

Curse them or taunt, they will not hear or see; The Kings are pa.s.sing deathward: let them be.

Jerico. [Willard Wattles]

Jerico, Jerico, Round and round the walls I go Where they watch with scornful eyes, Where the captained bastions rise; Heel and toe, heel and toe, Blithely round the walls I go.

Jerico, Jerico, Round and round the walls I go . . .

All the golden ones of earth Regal in their lordly mirth . . .

Heel and toe, heel and toe, Round and round the walls I go.

Jerico, Jerico, Blithely round the walls I go, With a broken sword in hand Where the mighty bastions stand; Heel and toe, heel and toe, Hear my silly bugle blow.

Heel and toe, heel and toe, Round the walls of Jerico . . .

Past the haughty golden gate Where the emperor in state Smiles to see the ragged show, Round and round the towers go.

Jerico, Jerico, Round and round and round I go . . .

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