The Ballad of the White Horse by G. K. (Gilbert Keith) Chesterton
page 10 of 111 (09%)
page 10 of 111 (09%)
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There was not English armour left, Nor any English thing, When Alfred came to Athelney To be an English king. For earthquake swallowing earthquake Uprent the Wessex tree; The whirlpool of the pagan sway Had swirled his sires as sticks away When a flood smites the sea. And the great kings of Wessex Wearied and sank in gore, And even their ghosts in that great stress Grew greyer and greyer, less and less, With the lords that died in Lyonesse And the king that comes no more. And the God of the Golden Dragon Was dumb upon his throne, And the lord of the Golden Dragon Ran in the woods alone. And if ever he climbed the crest of luck And set the flag before, Returning as a wheel returns, Came ruin and the rain that burns, And all began once more. |
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