Prelude to the Storm at the Shrine

Dewdrops are the light of life,
the thousand gems of glinting glory
underneath the canopy
of that young, timid lady's smile.
One by one, they slipped and fell
through space between the darkened background
while the firefly flitted round
the blinded light, the dying life;
and the lady hid her face
and faded back behind her screen which
sat beyond the silent ditch;
and turned the gems to lifeless stones.
And the dull stones trembled while
a tremor shook the quiet shelter;
each step of an armoured soldier
marching to a fiery bath.
"Light the fire and raise your swords;
commit your honour, lift the standards,
Place your wage, and deal the cards,"
so said the voice that gravely called.