64460: The Dying Knight And The Fauns

<p dir="ltr"> Through the dreams of yesternight<br> My blood brother great in fight<br> I saw lying, slowly dying<br> Where the weary woods were sighing<br> With the rustle of the birches,<br> With the quiver of the larches ...<br> Woodland fauns with hairy haunches<br> Grin in wonder through the branches,<br> Woodland fauns who know not fear:<br> Wondering they wander near,<br> Munching mushrooms red as coral,<br> Bunches, too, of rue and sorrel,<br> With uncouth and bestial sounds,<br> Knowing naught of war and wounds.<br> But the crimson life-blood oozes<br> And makes roses of the daisies,<br> Persian carpets of the mosses---<br> Softly now his spirit passes<br> As the bee forsakes the lily,<br> As the berry leaves the holly;<br> But the fauns still think him living,<br> And with bay leaves they are weaving<br> Crowns to deck him. Well they may!<br> He was worthy of the Bay.</p>