CADA PIEZA VIVE EN UNA DIRECCIÓN · NADA VIVE EN UNA SOLA SALA  

PoetósferaLa BibliotecaFrancis Joseph Sherman

Francis Joseph Sherman · Vanguardias / s. XX

The Conqueror

inglés

I will go now where my dear Lady is,
And tell her how I won in this great fight;
Ye know not death who say this shape is his
That loometh up between me and the light.

As if death could wish anything of one
Who hath to-day brought many men to death!
Why should it not grow dark?—Surely the sun
Hath seen since morning much that wearieth.

Dead bodies; red, red blood upon the land;
Torn sails of scattered ships upon the sea;
And dead forgotten men stretched on the sand
Close to the sea's edge, where the waves are free;

What day hath seen such things and hath not fled?
What day hath stayed, hearing, for frequent sounds,
The flashing swords of men well-helmeted,
The moans of warriors sick of many wounds?

Ye know not death; this thing is but the night.
Wherefore I should be glad that it is come:
For when I left my Lady for this fight,
I said, "At sunset I am coming home."

"When you return, I shall be here," she said,
"God knows that I must pray a little while."
And as she put my helmet on my head,
She kissed me; and her blue eyes tried to smile.

And still she waiteth underneath the trees.
(When we had gone a little on our way
I turned and looked; she knelt there on her knees:
I heard her praying many times to-day.)

Nay, nay, I need no wine! She waiteth still
Watching and praying till I come to her.
She saw the sun drop down behind the hill
And wondereth I am a loiterer.

So I must go. Bring me my shield and sword!
(Is there no unstained grass will clean this stain?)
This day is won;—but now the great reward
Cometh! O Love, thy prayers were not in vain!

I am well rested now.—Nay, I can rise
Without your help! Why do ye look at me
With so much pain and pity in your eyes,
Who gained with me to-day this victory?

I think we should be glad we are not dead,
—Only, perchance, no Lady waiteth you,
No Lady who is all uncomforted,
And who hath watched and prayed these long hours through.

Yea, I must go.—What? Am I tired yet?
Let me lie here and rest my aching side.
The thought of her hath made me quite forget
How sharp his sword was just before he died.

Sigue explorando

Por su autor
Francis Joseph Sherman · 59 piezas más en la casa
Dónde vive
La Biblioteca

← The BuilderThe Foreigner →

Expediente

Autor
Francis Joseph Sherman
Título
The Conqueror
Lengua
inglés
Época
Vanguardias / s. XX
Sala
La Biblioteca
Identificador
ws-en-the-conqueror--francis-joseph-sherman-96f5b5
Cita recomendada
Francis Joseph Sherman, «The Conqueror», Poetósfera, poetosfera.com/p/ws-en-the-conqueror--francis-joseph-sherman-96f5b5.html

Las obras de dominio público se reproducen íntegras, con atribución y en la ortografía de su impreso. ¿Ves una errata o conoces una fuente mejor? Escríbenos desde Sobre la casa.