And dome of stars and moon Above the Mancha plain, What urn can know The ancient, human space Which they, The Don and Sancho, They themselves contain. We jailed them in the nave, And crowned their maker Christ of Spain. We made the jewel lights Suffuse and soften Their raw edges. Two statues Rivetted in stone, They mock and shadow Our dichotomies And pain. The ashes of their energies In urns below.
Old countries Fill the eyes and mouths Of fools With dust.
Thrust upward, Inward , into galaxies. But do not leave and roam Along the circling arc Toward home.