The Last Dragon
My kind was born in ancient day;
the world yet young, with stars we'd play
and joy we knew beyond desire,
of flight, of thought, of burning fire,
and graceful mothers taught to sing
the little ones who took to wing
beneath the careful, watchful eyes
of fathers older than the skies.
Our dreams were scarcely less than real,
with force to rule and truth reveal,
and we learned secrets from the night
that never since have seen the light.
Our words were echoes of that Word
which first the turning chaos heard,
and like their sire they brought to form
the shapeless mass of primal storm:
to make a thing we did but speak,
and lo! whatever we might seek
was made to be. Those days are gone,
as vanished as our native dawn.
And we who were the world's first pride
in caverns deep must crawl to hide
from vermin clad with hide and steel,
ashamed of fears our hearts now feel.
O First of all, O highest Light,
cast down his hubris, slay this knight,
for through his bright but wicked blade
I fear I soon will be but shade
and I who breathe the flaming breath
now face the bitter chill of death.
Days Already Past
My heart is fanned open,
a peacock's tail, as I lie in bed.
Sleep, dearest; dream well!
Listen to my breath, a love melody.
The half-sun of this late afternoon
shines upon the garden,
honey-suckle sweet;
the clouds like vineyard leaves
doubly thick, drifting,
gather sad tales into piled masses
as I rest, the breeze fanning me.
The shadows lengthen on the trees
like painful months,
recurrent and endless.
On my arm rest your head;
let me listen to your sigh,
the melancholy as it falls,
rolling down the pillow.
MacFingal
Star, dark night's companion,
whose face rises, brilliant,
from the sunset-clouds,
whose majestic steps press down
on the firmament so blue,
what do you see below?
The stormwinds of the day are still,
the evening gnats, on light wings,
fill the heaven-silence with their whir.
Brilliant star, smiling with light,
what do you see below?
But already do I see you, silent,
settling on horizon's edge.
Farewell!
Stranger,
you dwell on hero-covered land.
Sing the glory of the dead;
their shades rejoice around you.
