“I reached out my hand, England's rivers turned and flowed the other way...I reached out my hand, my enemies's blood stopt in their veins...I reached out my hand; thought and memory flew out of my enemies' heads like a flock of starlings;My enemies crumpled like empty sacks.I came to them out of mists and rain;I came to them in dreams at midnight;I came to them in a flock of ravens that filled a northern sky at dawn;When they thought themselves safe I came to them in a cry that broke the silence of a winter wood...The rain made a door for me and I went through it;The stones made a throne for me and I sat upon it;Three kingdoms were given to me to be mine forever;England was given to me to be mine forever.The nameless slave wore a silver crown;The nameless slave was a king in a strange country...The weapons that my enemies raised against me are venerated in Hell as holy relics;Plans that my enemies made against me are preserved as holy texts;Blood that I shed upon ancient battlefields is scraped from the stained earth by Hell's sacristans and placed in a vessel of silver and ivory.I gave magic to England, a valuable inheritanceBut Englishmen have despised my giftMagic shall be written upon the sky by the rain but they shall not be able to read it;Magic shall be written on the faces of the stony hills but their minds shall not be able to contain it;In winter the barren trees shall be a black writing but they shall not understand it...Two magicians shall appear in England...The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me;The first shall be governed by thieves and murderers; the second shall conspire at his own destruction;The first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;The second shall see his dearest posession in his enemy's hand...The first shall pass his life alone, he shall be his own gaoler;The second shall tread lonely roads, the storm above his head, seeking a dark tower upon a high hillside...I sit upon a black throne in the shadows but they shall not see me.The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it;The stones shall make a throne for me and I shall sit upon it...The nameless slave shall wear a silver crownThe nameless slave shall be a king in a strange country...”

“The King beneath the mountains,The King of carven stone,The lord of silver fountainsShall come into his own!His crown shall be upholden,His harp shall be restrung,His halls shall echo goldenTo songs of yore re-sung.The woods shall wave on mountains.And grass beneath the sun;His wealth shall flow in fountainsAnd the rivers golden run.The streams shall run in gladness,The lakes shall shine and burn,And sorrow fail and sadnessAt the Mountain-king’s return!”

“One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the StrandOne day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washèd it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide and made my pains his prey.Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assayA mortal thing so to immortalise;For I myself shall like to this decay,And eke my name be wipèd out likewise.Not so (quod I); let baser things deviseTo die in dust, but you shall live by fame;My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,And in the heavens write your glorious name:Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,Our love shall live, and later life renew.”

“Make me a captive, Lord,And then I shall be free;Force me to render up my sword,And I shall conqueror be.I sink in life's alarmsWhen by myself I stand;Imprison me within Thine arms,And strong shall be my hand”

“If our enemies take meAnd people stop talking to me,If they confiscate the whole world—The right to breathe, open doors, Affirm that existence shall go onAnd that people, like a judge, shall judge,And if they dare to keep me like an animalAnd fling my food on the floor, I won’t fall silent or deaden the agony,But shall write what I am free to write,My naked body gathering momentum like a bell,And in a corner of the ominous darkI shall yoke ten oxen to my voiceAnd move my hand in the darkness like a ploughAnd, wrung out into a legion of brotherly eyes,Shall fall with the full heaviness of a harvest,Exploding in the distance with all the force of a vow,And in the depths of the unguarded nightThe eyes of that unskilled laborer, earth, shall shineAnd a flock of flaming years swoop down,And like a ripe thunderstorm Lenin shall burst forth.But on this earth (which shall escape decay)There to wake up life and reason will be”

“I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire.”