The Ballad of St. Barbara and other verses/The Hunting of the Dragon
THE HUNTING OF THE DRAGON
When we went hunting the DragonIn the days when we were young,We tossed the bright world over our shoulderAs bugle and baldrick slung;Never was world so wild and fairAs what went by on the wind,Never such fields of paradiseAs the fields we left behind:For this is the best of a rest for menThat men should rise and rideMaking a flying fairylandOf market and country-side,Wings on the cottage, wings on the wood,Wings upon pot and pan,For the hunting of the DragonThat is the life of a man.
For men grow weary of fairylandWhen the Dragon is a dream,And tire of the talking bird in the tree,The singing fish in the stream;And the wandering stars grow stale, grow stale, And the wonder is stiff with scorn;For this is the honour of fairylandAnd the following of the horn;
Beauty on beauty called us backWhen we could rise and ride,And a woman looked out of every windowAs wonderful as a bride:And the tavern-sign as a tabard blazed,And the children cheered and ran,For the love of the hate of the DragonThat is the pride of a man.
The sages called him a shadowAnd the light went out of the sun:And the wise men told us that all was wellAnd all was weary and one:And then, and then, in the quiet garden,With never a weed to kill,We knew that his shining tail had shoneIn the white road over the hill:We knew that the clouds were flakes of flame,We knew that the sunset fireWas red with the blood of the DragonWhose death is the world's desire.
For the horn was blown in the heart of the nightThat men should rise and ride,Keeping the tryst of a terrible jestNever for long untried;Drinking a dreadful blood for wine,Never in cup or can,The death of a deathless Dragon,That is the life of a man.