Between the pedestals of night and morning
Between Red Death and Radiant Desire,
with not one sound of triunpth or of warning
stands the great sentry on the Bridge of Fire.

Oh trascient soul, thy thought with dreams adoring,
cast down the laurel, and unstring the lyre:
the wheels of time are turning, turning, turnin,
the slow stream channels deep and doth not tire.

Gods on their bridge above
whispering lies and love
shall mock your passage down the sunless river
wich, rolling all in streams,
shall take you, King of Dreams,
unthroned and unapproachable forever
to where the kings who dreamed of old
whiten in habitations of monumental cold.

James E. Flecker
1884-1915