Hearken yet!--through that whirlwind of danger and battle, Beaten back, struggling forward, we fought without blemish On my banner spear-rent in the days of my father, On my love of the land and the longing I cherished For a tale to be told when I, laid in the minster, Might hear it no more; was it easy of winning, Our bread of those days? Yet as wild as the work was, Unforgotten and sweet in my heart was that vision, And her eyes and her lips and her fair body's fashion Blest all times of rest, rent the battle asunder, Turned ruin to laughter and death unto dreaming; And again and thrice over again did I go there Ere spring was grown winter: in the meadows I met her, By the sheaves of the corn, by the down-falling apples, Kind and calm, yea and glad, yet with eyes of one seeking. --Ah the mouth of one waiting, ere all shall be over!-- But at last in the winter-tide mid the dark forest Side by side did we wend down the pass: the wind tangled Mid the trunks and black boughs made wild music about us, But her feet on the scant snow and the sound of her breathing Made music much better: the wood thinned, and I saw her, As we came to the brow of the pass; for the moon gleamed Bitter cold in the cloudless black sky of the winter. Then the world drew me back from my love, and departing I saw her sweet serious look pass into terror And her arms cast abroad--and lo, clashing of armour, And a sword in my hand, and my mouth crying loud, And the moon and cold steel in the doorway burst open And thy doughty spear thrust through the throat of the foeman My dazed eyes scarce saw--thou rememberest, my fosterer? MASTER OLIVER Yea, Theobald the Constable had watched but unduly; We were taken unwares, and wild fleeing there was O'er black rock and white snow--shall such times come again, son? KING PHARAMOND