In that eclipse of noon when joy was hushed <br />Like the bird's song beneath unnatural night, <br />And Terror's footfall in the darkness crushed <br />The rose imperial of our delight, <br />Then, even then, though no man cried 'He comes,' <br />And no man turned to greet him passing there, <br />With phantom heralds challenging renown <br />And silent-throbbing drums <br />I saw the King of England, hale and fair, <br />Ride out with a great train through London town. <br /> <br />Unarmed he rode, but in his ruddy shield <br />The lions bore the dint of many a lance, <br />And up and down his mantle's azure field <br />Were strewn the lilies plucked in famous France. <br />Before him went with banner floating wide <br />The yeoman breed that served his honour best, <br />And mixed with these his knights of noble blood; <br />But in the place of pride <br />His admirals in billowy lines abreast <br />Convoyed him close like galleons on the flood. <br /> <br />Full of a strength unbroken showed his face <br />And his brow calm with youth's unclouded dawn, <br />But round his lips were lines of tenderer grace <br />Such as no hand but Time's hath ever drawn. <br />Surely he knew his glory had no part <br />In dull decay, nor unto Death must bend, <br />Yet surely too of lengthening shadows dreamed <br />With sunset in his heart, <br />So brief his beauty now, so near the end, <br />And now so old and so immortal seemed. <br /> <br />O King among the living, these shall hail <br />Sons of thy dust that shall inherit thee: <br />O King of men that die, though we must fail <br />Thy life is breathed from thy triumphant sea. <br />O man that servest men by right of birth, <br />Our hearts' content thy heart shall also keep, <br />Thou too with us shalt one day lay thee down <br />In our dear native earth, <br />Full sure the King of England, while we sleep, <br />For ever rides abroad, through London town.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-king-of-england/
