Thunder in the night

And they thunder in the night again,

With shaking spears

And stirrups taught,

Racing towards the plain.

Their passionate shining mounts,

Snort hot calabrian steam.

‘Ride my warriors, my banner bearers,

Now and tomorrow and forever.

Rise for shattered shields

And blunted lances,

Brave men of Alexander.

Rouse, and charge.

Battle! Battle. And 

for my soul, plunder.’

The voice that spoke fades away

Into the pounding piston hooves,

Which burst the ground asunder.

And all the hot faces that rub cold metal,

marked by quickly coming instants,

Are rocked by endless rolling thunder.

Their saddles cool, and the stallions flee.

Then a dreadful noise unannihalates

From the still steaming fecundity of war:

And utters forth a terrible prayer,

‘Let every mountain groan under weight

Let every forest be felled

Let the ground itself be ground to dust,

Ere my scarlet sun rises’

The army is scattered across the field.

Then dawns blood begins to spill

And every hill surrounds itself

With the light of funeral guns

Then the warm ground turns grey under the rain

And the thunder begins again.