THE SANGREAL:

Through the wood the sunny day

Glimmered sweetly glad;

Through the wood his weary way

Rode sir Galahad.

All about stood open porch,

Long-drawn cloister dim;

‘ Twas a wavering wandering church

Every side of him.

On through columns arching high,

Foliage-vaulted, he

Rode in thirst that made him sigh,

Longing miserably.

Came the moon, and through the trees

Glimmered faintly sad;

Withered, worn, and ill at ease

Down lay Galahad;

Closed his eyes and took no heed

What might come or pass;

Heard his hunger-busy steed

Cropping dewy grass.

Cool and juicy was the blade,

Good to him as wine:

For his labour he was paid,

Galahad must pine!

Late had he at Arthur's board,

Arthur strong and wise,

Pledged the cup with friendly lord,

Looked in ladies’ eyes;

Now, alas! he wandered wide,

Resting never more,

Over lake and mountain-side,

Over sea and shore!

Swift in vision rose and fled

All he might have had;

Weary tossed his restless head,

And his heart grew sad.

With the lowliest in the land

He a maiden fair

Might have led with virgin hand

From the altar-stair:

Youth away with strength would glide,

Age bring frost and woe;

Through the world so dreary wide

Mateless he must go!

Lost was life and all its good,

Gone without avail!

All his labour never would

Find the Holy Grail!