Many thanks to Paul Bonner of the Herald-Sun for typing this poem.
Error messages go to Martin Ward





THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE

By G.K. Chesterton




DEDICATION



Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?