Classic Poem

The fresh hair flickered at her brows
The fur and frill against her throat
She turned her face, and all my Soul
God with a living splendour smote.

She said “In that grey hall at rest
Dead lies the Councilor and sage”
She shook the ruffles of her wrist
And laid her fingers on a page.

And all day long the human flood,
Rolled through the Red King's echoing hall
But thus, and thus, between her brows,
I had not seen the shadows fall;

You never willed a nation's will
Or towered and thundered with the news
Yet one Man, very mean and poor
Thanks God who gave him eyes to choose.

Lifts to the stars his head to think
He did not lose, though one of ten,
One moment of your face to see
The mightiest of the sons of men.