hering grief, laid lovely 'neath the dew,
Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when comes queen Summer tall,
Her throat a lily long and spiritual;
Rich as the poppied swaths--droned haunts of bees--
Her cheeks, a brown maid's gleaning on the leas,
Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when Autumn sighing there
Broods with long frost streaks in her dark, dark hair;
Tears in grave eyes as in grave heavens above,
Deep lost in memories' melancholy, love,
Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when Winter at the door
Begs on her scant locks icicles as hoar;
While Death's eyes hollow o'er her shoulder dart
A look to wring to tears then freeze the heart,
Will love grow less?"

And in her hair wept softly and her breast
Rose and was wet with tears; like as, distressed,
Night steals on Day rain sobbing thro' her curls.
"Tho' tears become thee even as priceless pearls,
Weep not for love's sake! mine no gloom of doubt,
But woe for sweet love's death such dreams brought out.
Nay, nay; crowned, throned and flame-anointed he
Kings our twin-kingdomed hearts eternally.
Love, high in Heaven beginning and to cease
No majesty when hearts are laid at peace;
But reign supreme, if souls have wrought as well,
A god in Heaven or a god in Hell.
Yea, Morgane, for the favor of his face
All our rich world of love I will retrace:

"Hurt in that battle where thy brother strove
With those five kings thou wot'st of, dearest love,
Wherein the five were worsted, I was brought
To some king's castle on my shield, methought,--
Out of the grind of spears and roar of swords,
From the loud shields of battle-bloody lords,
Culled from the mountained slain where Havoc sprawled
Gorged to her eyes with carnage, growling crawled;--
By some tall damsels tiremaids of some queen
Stately and dark, who moved as if a sheen
Of starlight spread her presence; and she came
With healing herbs and searched my wounds. A dame
So marvelous in raiment silvery
I feared lest some attendant chaste were she
To that high Holy Grael, which Arthur hath
Sought ever widely by hoar wood and path;--
Thus not for me, a worldly one, to love,
Who loved her even to wonder; skied above
His worship as our moon above the Main,
That passions upward