In Avilion

The trumpets rang for Arthur in Avilion A piercing point of war. But he was asleep in a green silk pavilion Watched by the elf-queen's star. Great ships thundered to death along the billows, Cities were tumbled to the stones, But his helm had fallen to dust among the pillows, And his mail was dust on his bones.

Under the apple boughs the horns blew out to him A merry point of chase. But he was asleep with a strange cloak about him And the dew was sweet on his face. All through the brown broom the stag went running To the wild Welsh border where he died, But the tall king's spear had rusted in its cunning, And his blade was rust at his side.

From the dust of the nunnery Guinever sighed up to him A little song and faint, As the ghost of a dancer might raise a gold cup to him, As a prayer might climb to a saint. "For a thousand years I have wearied of my sinning In the houses of heaven and of hell. Say, do you love me as once in the beginning?" And he answered to her, "Love, sleep well."