King Arthur had a beard as well as a torque,
A string of beads and a sword of gold,
And Tintagel indeed was the infant's abode.
The Thor was a stronghold as well as a gate
Into the rituals of the hemispheres
Where Druids and monks kept a holy grail.
Don't look for Avalon in far-off lands,
Its apples are blooming before your eyes,
From Glastonbury to St. Michael's Mount.
And the Knights of the table that was so round
Had granted Britannia its coats-of-arms,
Its codes of chivalry, its lion-hearted.
And England so blessed with hallowed feet
Was the new Jerusalem but few did heed
The Tunic Cross, Arimathea's reed.