SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. A FRAGMENT. LIKE souls that balance joy and pain, The maiden Spring upon the plain In crystal vapor everywhere Blue isles of heaven laughed between, Sometimes the linnet piped his song: SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 127 In curves the yellowing river ran, Above the teeming ground. Then, in the boyhood of the year, She seemed a part of joyous Spring: A gown of grass-green silk she wore, Now on some twisted ivy-net, Now by some tinkling rivulet, On mosses thick with violet, Her cream-white mule his pastern set : And now more fleet she skimmed the plains Than she whose elfin prancer springs When all the glimmering moorland rings 128 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. As she fled fast through sun and shade, A man had given all other bliss, A FAREWELL. FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, No more by thee my steps shall be, Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, But here will sigh thine alder tree, And here by thee will hum the bee, A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver; But not by thee my steps shall be, Forever and forever. THE BEGGAR MAID. Her arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say: Bare-footed came the beggar maid Before the King Cophetua. In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way; "It is no wonder," said the lords, "She is more beautiful than day." As shines the moon in clouded skies, Cophetua sware a royal oath: "This beggar maid shall be my queen!" |