Young men of that established house, I wind the horn whose echo did not fall Upon your ear as something sounded in the past; I sound it now; an angel bore it to you thence, And that is why you have not known the rest Germane to the crossed swords upon the breast That seal a death to something stellified. It made you restless and you heard the stamp of hoof; You knew that had you time enough You could have tamed that scarlet wolf. And we all know of her who wrapped our upper arms With favours of albescent cherry silk, To whom we all wrote verses when we could not sleep. I wind that horn again so that your blood might leap Into the water-course of God Almighty’s purposes.