  On the old road of Roman, on the road Of chivalry and pride—the path to Wales Famed in the chronicles and full of tales— Westward I went, songs in my mouth, and strode Free-bodied, light of heart, Past many a heaped waggon with golden load, And rumbling carrier’s cart. When, near the bridge where snorting trains go under With noise of thunder, I turned and saw A tower stand, like an immortal law— Permanent, past the reach of Time and Change, Yet fair and fresh as any flower wild blown; As delicate, as fair As any highest tiny cloudlet sown Faint in the upper air. Fragile yet strong, a music that vision seemed. Though all the land was fair, let the eye range Whither it will On plain or hill, It must return where white the tower gleamed Wonderful, irresistible, bubble-bright In the morning light. And then I knew, I knew why men must choose Rather the dangerous path of arms than let Beauty be broken That is God’s token, The sign of Him; why hearts of courage forget Aught but the need supreme To follow honour and the perilous thing: Scorning Death’s sting; Knowing Man’s faith not founded on a dream. Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. |
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