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GLASTONBURY
Such as are writ upon the face of dawn,
Or in the glamour of a moonlit night,
Or in the autumn swallow's southern flight,
Or in the breaking of the restless seas:
Or dreamed rich, hallowed dreams of aureate days
While yet the King was young, and sunlight fell
On bower and roof of ancient Camelot:
Of triumph clarion, and thanksgiving bell,
When all was song, and laughter, and high praise,
Even when as yet the accursed thing was not.
Or in the glamour of a moonlit night,
Or in the autumn swallow's southern flight,
Or in the breaking of the restless seas:
Or dreamed rich, hallowed dreams of aureate days
While yet the King was young, and sunlight fell
On bower and roof of ancient Camelot:
Of triumph clarion, and thanksgiving bell,
When all was song, and laughter, and high praise,
Even when as yet the accursed thing was not.
Then would loom out from the chill mists of time
The faces and the forms remembered still,
The King and Guinevere, and Galahad,
That rode upon a peerless quest and dire,
Kay, swift and hasty as a flame of fire,
And gentle Percival, whom to give made glad;
Merlin, contriver of the riddling rime,
And Gawain, silent harbinger of ill.
The faces and the forms remembered still,
The King and Guinevere, and Galahad,
That rode upon a peerless quest and dire,
Kay, swift and hasty as a flame of fire,
And gentle Percival, whom to give made glad;
Merlin, contriver of the riddling rime,
And Gawain, silent harbinger of ill.
So as the day draws ever toward the dark,
Ever toward peace the great wind's sounding breath,
And ever toward the further shore the bark
They drew to the dark, silent realm of death.
Ever toward peace the great wind's sounding breath,
And ever toward the further shore the bark
They drew to the dark, silent realm of death.
Far, far away from their old palace-halls
Where once they lived a splendid life and vain,
That now are scattered stones and crumbled walls
In some soft vale, or by the echoing main,
Where once they lived a splendid life and vain,
That now are scattered stones and crumbled walls
In some soft vale, or by the echoing main,
Beneath the springing grass, and very deep
They three do lie, where never mornings rise
To ope the portals of their dazed eyes,
Nor ever mortal footstep breaks their sleep,
They three do lie, where never mornings rise
To ope the portals of their dazed eyes,
Nor ever mortal footstep breaks their sleep,
And near beside lies Arthur, even he
That was King once, and yet again shall be.
That was King once, and yet again shall be.
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