The white ghosts walk in a row;

If one could see it, an awful sight. Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers.

But none can see them now,

Though they sit by the side of the moat, Feet half in the water, there in a row, Long hair in the wind afloat. Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers.

If any will go to it now,

He must go to it all alone,

Its gates will not open to any row

Of glittering spears: will you go alone?

Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

By my love go there now,

To fetch me my coif away,

My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,
Oliver, go to-day!

Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

I am unhappy now,

I cannot tell you why;

If you go, the priests and I in a row Will pray that you may not die. Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers.

[She sayeth inwardly.]

(The graves stand grey in a row.)
Oliver, hold me fast!

Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

NEAR AVALON.

[The Defence of Guenevere etc. 1858.]

A SHIP with shields before the sun,
Six maidens round the mast,

A red-gold crown on every one,
A green gown on the last.

The fluttering green banners there

Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
And a portraiture of Guenevere

The middle of each sail doth bear.

A ship with sails before the wind,
And round the helm six knights,

Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
They pass by many sights.

The tatter'd scarlet banners there

Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
Those six knights sorrowfully bear

In all their heaumes some yellow hair.

A GARDEN BY THE SEA.

[Poems by the Way 1891. Mit geringen Abweichungen, bereits in "Jason" 1867.]

I KNOW a little garden-close,

Set thick with lily and red rose,

Where I would wander if I might
From dewy morn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.

And though within it no birds sing,
And though no pillared house is there,
And though the apple-boughs are bare
Of fruit and blossom, would to God
Her feet upon the green grass trod,
And I beheld them as before.

There comes a murmur from the shore,
And in the close two fair streams are,
Drawn from the purple hills afar,
Drawn down unto the restless sea:

Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,
Dark shore no ship has ever seen,
Tormented by the billows green
Whose murmur comes unceasingly
Unto the place for which I cry.

For which I cry both day and night,
For which I let slip all delight,
Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,
Careless to win, unskilled to find,
And quick to lose what all men seek.

Yet tottering as I am and weak,
Still have I left a little breath
To seek within the jaws of death
An entrance to that happy place,
To seek the unforgotten face,

Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me
Anigh the murmuring of the sea.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.*

[The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon: The Earthly Paradise, vol. III, 1870.]

OUTLANDERS, whence come ye last?

The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Through what green seas and great have ye passed? Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

From far away, O masters mine,

We come to bear you goodly wine.

From far away we come to you

To tell of great tidings strange and true.

News, news of the Trinity,

And Mary and Joseph from over the sea!

For as we wandered far and wide,

What hap do ye deem there should us betide!

Under a bent when the night was deep,
There lay three shepherds tending their sheep.

"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,
To slay your sorrow, and heal your teen?"

"In an ox-stall this night we saw
A babe and a maid without a flaw.

"There was an old man there beside,

His hair was white and his hood was wide.

"And as we gazed this thing upon,

Those twain knelt down to the Little One.

"And a marvellous song we straight did hear, That slew our sorrow and healed our care."

News of a fair and a marvellous thing,

The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!

Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

LOVE IS ENOUGH: IT GREW UP WITHOUT HEEDING.

[Aus: Love is Enough, 1872 (“1873”).]

LOVE IS ENOUGH: it grew up without heeding

In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure, And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding, As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.

And what do ye say then?-that Spring long departed

Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers; -That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers;

We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.

Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason, And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended

In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended; But this is the harvest and the garnering season, And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.