King Pharamond

Yea, many a thing--as the moonlit warm evening When we stayed by the trees in the Gold-bearing Land, Nigh the gate of the city, where a minstrel was singing That tale of the King and his fate, o'er the cradle Foretold by the wise of the world; that a woman Should win him to love and to woe, and despairing In the last of his youth, the first days of his manhood.