They rode ahead of death on the strong turning
clocks; and from what cunning
cathedrals of the mind, pure paladins,
they drove the crying dragon.  And thence
grew passionless as legends are: for them
Love had, in love, his own Jerusalem.

So victory brought home celestial
thorns, and the rosy grail;
and the long tombs lay down.
			Time our tame spider
webs the white hands of the crusader;
misery with fierce eyes prowls his bed
- the cat that eats the faces of the dead.