How fought we then in ancient days now spent.
We kicked our heels up high; we battered much.
Beneath your swirling sword, our tidal wave
of chaos and calamity did surge
against the gathered stones of neighbored foes,
and carried twisted limbs and gaping mauls,
shattered spears and scattered shields
across the bloody scream-up moan-down field.

Now great king, how thin, how pale: shorn of all
your valiant hair and ruddy ready charm!
And oh my king, your voice so ragged worn
that once would boom like thunder’s rolling roar–!?

It meets me strangely, these reappraisals
from younger folk with cleaner nails who judge
our days without our ways

***Oh, looks like a fragment**