Our rabble cried, starting aside like broken bows; they tried to hide, Split, fled for refuge to a hill, did nothing while the Templars died. When all was lost I cut my way out through the thicket of the fray, And galloped for Jerusalem to adjure Guy's Queen to stand at bay. In this last desperate passage each proud noble still opposed his friend. A little while and we were penned, and yet a little while a breach Was made. Jehovah's chosen seat was tottering, but no Paraclete Came down to comfort us. I made some sallies. Then the Queen would treat. Perhaps in our appeal for ruth my wording stumbled on the truth, "One God that went by many names," or else I knew Him in my youth, Or else that Sufi haunted me with something that I could not see, Something that only had not been because we would not let it be. And when the foe marched in, I own that I was thinking of the Rhone Long, long ago, and wondering--a child once more--if it had grown. Yet there remained the sharpest cup to drain: the moan of us went up, When from the topmost dome was hurled the Sign that should have ruled the world. Down, down it rumbled with our grand designs. All we had built or planned, Toiled, bled for, crumbled at a touch, was ruined like a house of sand. So soon we pass. The wind knows why. The efforts of a century, Three generations' handiwork failed in the twinkling of an eye. And I was sad to think that shadows occupy us all. I had No hope of earth. What boots a toy that thinks its maker raving mad? My soul had passed through every phase and, counting forty thousand days, Was farther off than at the start from comprehending heaven's ways Or bowing to them. I came nearest when I pressed my childish ear Earthward through briar and bramble bowers to catch the singing of the flowers. The last remains of faith were shaken when I, the oracle, was taken. My pride was made to sleep in chains. I prayed that I might never waken, But woke. They gave me to a _rais_ who wanted cattle, not advice. He flogged me down to Damietta. I was old and fetched no price. Nathless my battling heart was brave enough to work me till I dropped. I passed for twopence to a Copt who sold me as a galley-slave