"Yea, even so," said Accolon, his eyes Searching her face: "the knight, as I surmise, Who cometh heated to that haunted place, Stoops down to lave his forehead, and his face Meets fairy faces; elfins in a ring That shadow upward, smiling, beckoning Down, down to wonders, magic built of old For some dim witch.--A city walled with gold, With beryl battlements and paved with pearls; Its lambent towers wrought of foamy swirls Of alabaster; and that witch to love More beautiful than any queen above.-- He pauses, troubled: but a wizard power, In all his bronzen harness, that mad hour Plunges him--whither? What if he should miss Those cloudy beauties and that creature's kiss?-- Ah, Morgane, that same power Accolon Found potent in thine eyes, and it hath drawn And plunged him--whither? yea, to what far fate? To what dim end? what veiled and future state?"
With shadowy eyes long, long she gazed in his, Then whispered dreamily the one word, "Bliss." And like an echo on his sad mouth sate The answer:--"Bliss?--deep have we drunk of late! But death, I feel, some stealthy-footed death Draws near! whose claws will clutch away--whose breath?... I dreamed last night thou gather'dst flowers with me, Fairer than those of earth. And I did see How woolly gold they were, how woven through With fluffy flame, and webby with spun dew: And 'Asphodels' I murmured: then, 'These sure Are Eden amaranths, so angel pure That love alone may touch them.'--Thou didst lay The flowers in my hands; alas! then gray The world grew; and, meseemed, I passed away. In some strange manner on a misty brook, Between us flowing, striving still to look Beyond it, while, around, the wild air shook With torn farewells of pensive melody, Aching with tears and hopeless utterly; So merciless near, meseemed that I did hear That music in those flowers, and yearned to tear Their ingot-cored and gold-crowned hearts, and hush Their voices into silence and to crush: Yet o'er me was a something that restrained: The melancholy presence of two pained And awful, burning eyes that cowed and held My spirit while that music died or swelled Far out on shoreless waters, borne away-- Like some wild-bird, that, blinded with the ray Of dawn it wings tow'rds, lifting high its crest, The glory round it, sings its heavenliest, When suddenly all's changed; with drooping head, Daggered of thorns it plunged on, fluttering, dead, Still, still it seems to sing, though wrapped in night, The slow blood beading on its breast of white.-- And then I knew the flowers which thou hadst given Were strays of parting grief and waifs of heaven For tears and memories. Importunate They spoke to me of loves that separate!-- But, God! ah God! my God! thus was I left! And these were with me who was so bereft. The haunting torment of that dream of grief Weighs on my soul and gives me no relief."