86 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
Seamed with wounds, like adamant, shod with 
iron, 
Torn by the earthquake. 
 
Still through all the stresses of doubtful weather 
Hold the firm old pinnacles, sky-defying, 
Still the icy feet of the wind relentless 
Walk in their meadows. 
 
Fields that flower not, blossom in no new spring-
tide ; 
Fields where grass nor herb nor abounding 
darnel 
Flourish ;  fields more barren, devoid, than 
ocean’s 
Pasture ungarnered. 
 
Deserts, stone as arid as sand, savannahs 
Black with wrecks, a wilderness evil, fruitless ; 
Still, to me, a land of the bluest heaven 
Studded with silver. 
 
Castles bleak and bare as the wrath of ocean, 
Wasted wall and tower, as the blast had risen, 
Taken keep and donjon, and hurled them earth-
ward, 
Rent and uprooted.