You say, but with no touch of scor… Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-bl… Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. I know not: one indeed I knew

That story which the bold Sir Bed… First made and latest left of all… Told, when the man was no more tha… In the white winter of his age, to… With whom he dwelt, new faces, oth…

Is it, then, regret for buried tim… That keenlier in sweet April wake… And meets the year, and gives and… The colours of the crescent prime? Not all: the songs, the stirring a…

You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease, Within this region I subsist, Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas. It is the land that freemen till,

So all day long the noise of battl… Among the mountains by the winter… Until King Arthur’s table, man by… Had fallen in Lyonnesse about the… King Arthur: then, because his wo…

Our enemies have fall’n, have fall… The little seed they laugh’d at in… Has risen and cleft the soil, and… Of spanless girth, that lays on ev… A thousand arms and rushes to the…

Where Claribel low—lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose—leaves fall: But the solemn oak—tree sigheth, Thick—leaved, ambrosial,

Tears, idle tears, I know not wha… Tears from the depth of some divin… Rise in the heart, and gather to t… In looking on the happy Autumn-fi… And thinking of the days that are…

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in… Had made mock-knight of Arthur’s… At Camelot, high above the yellow… Danced like a wither’d leaf before… And toward him from the hall, with…