The Ballad of the White Horse

When Caesar's sun fell out of the skyAnd whoso hearkened rightCould only hear the plungingOf the nations in the night.When the ends of the earth came marching inTo torch and cresset gleam.And the roads of the world that lead to RomeWere filled with faces that moved like foam, Like faces in a dream.And men rode out of the eastern lands, Broad river and burning plain;Trees that are Titan flowers to see, And tiger skies, striped horribly, With tints of tropic rain.Where Ind's enamelled peaks ariseAround that inmost one, Where ancient eagles on its brink, Vast as archangels, gather and drinkThe sacrament of the sun.And men brake out of the northern lands, Enormous lands alone, Where a spell is laid upon life and lustAnd the rain is changed to a silver dustAnd the sea to a great green stone.And a Shape that moveth murkilyIn mirrors of ice and night, Hath blanched with fear all beasts and birds, As death and a shock of evil words5Blast a man's hair w