Ii

With feverish face from morn till noon, And noon to middle-night she stoops From her high lattice; late and soon In search for him among the troops That come and go or loiter by. For there had come a dame, in garb Of pearls and samite, green of dye, A stately woman on a barb, From Camelot, who, looking round, Had sneered, "'Mid herdsmen and such craft This Tristram lives like any hound." Then as she shook her curls and laughed, And flashed on Isolt looks of scorn, Trailing her glimmering jewels past, "I met a madman yestermorn Within the forest. Wild, aghast He stood, all naked in the rain, 'Twas Tristram, he of Lyonesse, A good knight once, but now--" Again She laughed, then sneered.--And one might guess The thing she hinted in disdain.