Content thee, sweet, for nowise dead Within our hearts the story is; It shall come back to better bliss On many an eve of happy spring, Or midst of summer's flourishing. Or think--some noon of autumn-tide Thou wandering on the turf beside The chestnut-wood may'st find thy song Fade out, as slow thou goest along, Until at last thy feet stay there As though thou bidedst something fair, And hearkenedst for a coming foot; While down the hole unto the root The long leaves flutter loud to thee The fall of spiky nuts shall be, And creeping wood-wale's noise above; For thou wouldst see the wings of Love. JOAN Or some November eve belike Thou wandering back with bow and tyke From wolf-chase on the wind-swept hill Shall find that narrow vale and still, And Pharamond and Azalais Amidmost of that grassy place Where we twain met last year, whereby Red-shafted pine-trunks rise on high, And changeless now from year to year, What change soever brought them there, Great rocks are scattered all around: --Wouldst thou be frightened at the sound Of their soft speech? So long ago It was since first their love did grow. GILES Maybe: for e'en now when he turned, His heart's scorn and his hate outburned, And love the more for that ablaze, I shuddered, e'en as in the place High up the mountains, where men say Gods dwelt in time long worn away. JOAN At Love's voice did I tremble too, And his bright wings, for all I knew He was a comely minstrel-lad, In dainty golden raiment clad. GILES Yea, yea; for though to-day he spake Words measured for our pleasure's sake, From well-taught mouth not overwise, Yet did that fount of speech arise In days that ancient folk called old. O long ago the tale was told To mighty men of thought and deed, Who kindled hearkening their own need, Set forth by long-forgotten men, E'en as we kindle: praise we then Tales of old time, whereby alone The fairness of the world is shown. JOAN A longing yet about me clings, As I had hearkened half-told things; And better than the words make plain I seem to know these lovers twain. Let us go hence, lest there should fall Something that yet should mar it all. GILES Hist--Master Mayor is drawn anigh; The Empress speaketh presently. THE MAYOR