He looks over the approaching army, and speaks:
It follows on from all of this
that the intensely Promethean desires
which afflict the poet
are not at all what he has set out to
and what he plans are not
the marble cliffs of yore
but the false rigidity of men
by formation and discipline gripped.
Beard to beard we shall be
beneath the darkest starlight
as all the arrows whiz by our ears
and torches flicker with the faintest exhalation
that all the lost provide.
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