Albion*

Be bedded body between sheets of time,
What is his flesh now but a guttered grime,
To doff, to toss, to scoff & bawdy rhyme.
Here lies the tombed giant Albion,
Fallen before even Jerusalem.
Deadly now he broods fallen far from yon
Golden fens of yore. The seven heaven
keepers, who sleep awake in the cavern,

are not his fall of nightmare sleep that roars
Dark & deep from heaven's chasmic divide
On Albion's shores with banners of wars,
Until by a kiss he's restored his bride.
Then shall Albion rise again sublime
Seven eyes to guard & reave him divine.

* After William Blake.

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004
All rights reserved.