“There rose a hill that none but man could climb, Scarred with a hundred wintry water-courses— Storm at the top, and when we gained it, storm Round us and death; for every moment glanced His silver arms and gloomed: so quick and thick The lightnings here and there to left and right Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead, Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death, Sprang into fire: and at the base we found On either hand, as far as eye could see, A great black swamp and of an evil smell, Part black, part whitened with the bones of men, Not to be crost, save that some ancient king Had built a way, where, linked with many a bridge, A thousand piers ran into the great Sea. And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge, And every bridge as quickly as he crost Sprang into fire and vanished, though I yearned To follow; and thrice above him all the heavens Opened and blazed with thunder such as seemed Shoutings of all the sons of God: and first At once I saw him far on the great Sea, In silver-shining armour starry-clear; And o’er his head the Holy Vessel hung Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, If boat it were—I saw not whence it came. And when the heavens opened and blazed again Roaring, I saw him like a silver star— And had he set the sail, or had the boat Become a living creature clad with wings? And o’er his head the Holy Vessel hung Redder than any rose, a joy to me, For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. Then in a moment when they blazed again Opening, I saw the least of little stars Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star I saw the spiritual city and all her spires And gateways in a glory like one pearl— No larger, though the goal of all the saints— Strike from the sea; and from the star there shot A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, Which never eyes on earth again shall see. Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep. And how my feet recrost the deathful ridge No memory in me lives; but that I touched The chapel-doors at dawn I know; and thence Taking my war-horse from the holy man, Glad that no phantom vext me more, returned To whence I came, the gate of Arthur’s wars.”