The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set gray life, and apathetic end.

Half light, half shade, She stood, a sight to make an old man young.

The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea, So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro’ the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack’d from side to side. “The curse is come upon me,” cried

“Tirra lirra,” by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.

Many-tower’d Camelot.

’Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.

The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.