King Pharamond

Hearken yet:--for a long time no more I beheld her Till a month agone now at the ending of Maytide; And then in the first of the morning I found me Fulfilled of all joy at the edge of the yew-wood; Then lo, her gown's flutter in the fresh breeze of morning, And slower and statelier than her wont was aforetime And fairer of form toward the yew-wood she wended. But woe's me! as she came and at last was beside me With sobbing scarce ended her bosom was heaving, Stained with tears was her face, and her mouth was yet quivering With torment of weeping held back for a season. Then swiftly my spirit to the King's bed was wafted While still toward the sea were her weary feet wending. --Ah surely that day of all wrongs that I hearkened Mine own wrongs seemed heaviest and hardest to bear-- Mine own wrongs and hers--till that past year of ruling Seemed a crime and a folly. Night came, and I saw her Stealing barefoot, bareheaded amidst of the tulips Made grey by the moonlight: and a long time Love gave me To gaze on her weeping--morn came, and I wakened-- I wakened and said: Through the World will I wander, Till either I find her, or find the World empty.