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.