A Crest And A Moor Poem by Andrew Benton

There once stood tall upon a mount,
a jewel above the earth-
a jocund lad of golden mind
whose heart was filled with mirth.

Although he had endured a life
of heedless need and endless strife,
he knew no hate and thought of love
as through the halls of men he drew.

And though his frame was cruelly spare
his soul was supple as the dew.

Across the way from our fine man
a sunken moor was said to lie,
and into this unholy drink,
a second lad began to fly.

His knowledge was of grandest root,
a prince upon our rock so blue-
He saw no want and knew no pain
as over common heads he few.

Yet as the stones of bastions past
had turned away each sharpened sword,
his heart was black and sharp and cruel,
and denied any love implored.

And as he saw his fate so foul
stretched before in twisted years,
his face so stern once to his friends
began to feel the rush of tears.

He called above the highest peak
and through the endless sky,
but no one came and no one heard
as he began to cry.

If not four our own noble tramp
upon his sightly hill,
the young king would have had no one
with whom to share his will.

The cruel king cried out to our son
upon his crest of gold-
he asked for help and platitude,
for rest from waters cold.

And though his mind was willing to
embrace his former foe,
the kindly youth knew in his heart
such deeds he must forgo.

For though a man may seem a saint
through all his days on earth,
true class lies not in deeds nor speech,
but in his true eternal worth.