Lines Over An Ancient Coast

The green isle sang a melody
as on clouds I floated free
and brought to me a memory
ancient yet not me
verdant dreams of tribal home
and he that I would be

the warrior, the troubadour
a prince of devout grace
with a beggarman’s philosophy
a drunken priest’s lost faith
and as I passed above all time
I gained all sense of place

my purpose then now plain to me
from on these heaven’s highs
all truth and beauty’s delicate
lights dance before my eyes
and without fear I face the west
as to my rest I fly.