IRON SLEET

Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of Hell prepares!) Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darkened air. Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier’s doom, Orkney’s woe and Randver’s bane. See the grisly texture grow, (‘Tis of human entrails made!) And the weights […]