In the torch-lit city of Finias 
that flames on the brow of the South
The Spear that divideth the heart
is held in a brazen mouth --

Arias the flame-white keeps it,
he whose laughter is heard
Where never a man has wandered, 
where never a god has stirred.

High kings have sought it, 
great queens have sought it, poets have dreamed --
And ever louder and louder 
the flame-white laughter of Arias streamed.

For kingdoms shaken and queens forsaken 
and high hopes starved in their drouth,
These are the torches ablaze 
on the walls of Finias that lightens the South.

Forbear, O Arias, forbear, forbear -- 
lift not the dreadful Spear --
I had but dreamed of thee, Finias, Finias . . .
now I am stricken . . . now I am here!