The Fisher King of Dinas Bran
Richard
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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The Grail, a symbol at last length, had brought new life, a fertile flow.
The Fisher King, by the misty lake, a crown of thorns upon his brow,
Casts his line for a fish to take, a cure for the land, somehow.
But a wound unseen did bring him fall, and a kingdom filled with wrong.
The Grail, a vision, ever sure, to lift the curse and fill it up.
His touch now withers, year by year, the land withers in his sight.
In London's heart, the ravens call, where once the Tower did rise,
Is Dinas Bran his castle keep? A fortress shrouded in mist?
On a hilltop crowned with crows, Dinas Bran, a castle old,
The Fisher King, with newfound strength, rose from his throne of pain and woe,
The land rejoiced, the crows took flight, on Dinas Bran, the castle strong,
He faced trials, both fierce and grand, through forests deep and mountains high,
From Celtic myths, his story weaves, a king of summer's light,
Do whispers on the Welsh wind creep, of the Fisher King unkissed?
Then came a knight, with heart so pure, on a quest for the sacred cup,
Bran the Blessed, they once did call, a ruler wise and strong,
Only the Grail, some believe, can lift the curse and end despair.
But heed the whispers on the breeze, the ravens' watchful, dark display,
And Britain's fate may stand or fall, on those black wings that paint the skies.
Until he reached the Fisher's land, beneath the weeping, mournful sky.
For in the depths where shadows lie, the Fisher King's hope lived on in song.
Guiding souls to the Otherworld, beneath the moonlit night.
A legend's echo, a haunting spell, beneath the cold and starry night.
"Ask your question, the die is cast," he rasped, a voice worn thin and dark.
The knight, with courage, pure and bright, spoke the words to break the spell,
For Bran still guards, beyond the seas, and Britain's fate may turn to grey.
But legends weave a double thread, a truth to cause both fear and awe,
Whispers echo, legends grow, of a king with a heart of gold.
But darkness crept, a twisted spear, pierced him through with unseen blight,
Or is it just a tale they tell, to fill the hearts of men with fright?
The Fisher King, with eyes downcast, beheld the knight, a hopeful spark,
Bran's head, they say, when life had fled, lies buried deep beneath the law.
The land grows barren, the people grieve, a sickness hangs in the air,
And as he spoke, a radiant light, bathed the land, a wondrous well.