Page:Lollingdon Downs and other poems, Masefield, 1917.djvu/47

Rh In the camp of the wild upon the march of madness,

The bright-eyed Queen of the blind.

Now where Beauty was are the wind-withered gorses

Moaning like old men in the hill-wind's blast,

The flying sky is dark with running horses

And the night is full of the past.