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!