They will never die on that battlefield
nor the shade or wolves recruit their hoard like brides of
wheat on all horizons waiting there to consume battle's end
There will be no dead to tighten their loose bellies
no heap of starched horses to redsmash their bright eyes
or advance their eat of dead
They would rather hungersulk with mad tongues
than believe that in that field no man dies.
They will never die who fight so embraced
breath to breath eye knowing eye impossible to die
or move no light seeping through no maced arm
nothing but horse outpanting horse shield brilliant upon
shield all made starry by the dot ray of a helmeted eye
ah how difficult to fall between those knitted lances
And those banners! angry as to flush insignia across its
erasure of sky
You'd think he'd paint his armies by the coldest rivers
have rows of iron skulls flashing in the dark
You'd think it impossible for any man to die
each combatant's mouth is a castle of song
each iron fist a dreamy gong flail resounding flail
like cries of gold
how I dream to join such battle!
a silver man on a black horse with red standard and stripped
lance never to die but to be endless
a golden prince of pictorial war
