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THE SWORDSMAN TO HIS SWORD
You are light in my hand
As a windrush might be,-
Ay, so light
As the froth on the sand
Or the foam on the sea,
And as bright
When you felt the red fire
Of the forge, as it played,
Did you feel,
Too, my swordsman's desire
Run like blood on your blade
And blue steel?
There is one I have seen
Step from darkness this night,
Like the morrow
That comes dawning between
Darkest walls, like delight
After sorrow.
For her sake, be a brand
In my spirit's eclipse;
Be a flame,
Be a flash in my hand,
And a laugh on the lips
Of my fame.
And her secret appeal,
And my deathless desire,
Taking word,-
In her need be a wheel
About her of fire,
My bright sword.
Ernest Rhys