Old fathers, great-grandfathers, Rise as kindred should. If ever lover's loneliness Came where you stood, Pray that Heaven protect us That protect your blood.
The mountain throws a shadow, Thin is the moon's horn; What did we remember Under the ragged thorn? Dread has followed longing, And our hearts are torn.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.