The Too-Late Born

We too, we too, descending once

The hills of our own land, we too have

Far off —- Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine —-The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,

The first, the second blast, the failing third,

And with the third turned back and climbed once

The steep road southward, and heard faint the

Of swords, of horses, the disastrous war,

And crossed the dark defile at last, and

At Roncevaux upon the darkening

The dead against the dead and on the silent

The silent slain—-