I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning,
So to my soul grown old –
Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray,
Grown old with namy a hither-coming and hence-going –
Till now they send him dreams and no more deed;
So doth he flame again with might for action,
Forgetful of the council of elders,
Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him
So doth he flame again toward valiant doing.

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3 Comments

  1. Sheryl Skoglund says:

    “I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
    Some strange old lust for deeds.
    As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
    Forgetful of the council of elders,
    Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
    Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him”.
    The Warrior has not the might of the ruler.

  2. Sheryl Skoglund says:

    I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
    Some strange old lust for deeds.
    As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
    Forgetful of the council of elders,
    Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
    Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him
    The Warrior has not the might of the ruler.

  3. Tom says:

    Such truth for all us old warriors who contend still; each in his own arena. And so beautifully put.

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