GENEALOGY
I was the dweller in the long cave
Of darkness, lining it with the forms
Of bulls. My hand matured early,
But turned to violence: I was the man
Watching later at the grim ford,
Armed with resentment; the quick stream
Remembers at sunset the raw crime,
The deed pursued me; I was the king
At church keyhole, who saw death
Loping towards me. From that same hour
I fought for right, with the proud chiefs
Setting my name to the broad treaties.
I marched to Bosworth with the Welsh lords
To victory, but regretted after
The white house at the woodfs heart.
I was the stranger in the new town,
Whose purse of tears was soon spent;
I filled it with a soldier coin
At the dark sources. I stand now
In the hard light of the brief day
Without roots, but with many branches.