Anon a Vision came in his sleep, And thrice the Vision saith: Go thou to Almesbury for thy sin, Where lieth the queen in death. Sir Launcelot cometh to Almesbury And knelt by the dead queen's bier; Oh none may know, moaned Launcelot, What sorrow lieth here. What love, what honor, what defeat What hope of the Holy Grail. The moon looked through the latticed glass On the queen's face cold and pale. Sir Launcelot kissed the ceréd cloth, And none could stay his woe, Her hair lay back from the oval brow, And her nose was clear as snow. They wrapped her body in cloth of Raines, They put her in webs of lead. They coffined her in white marble, And sang a mass for the dead. Sir Launcelot and seven knights Bore torches around the bier. They scattered myrrh and frankincense On the corpse of Guinevere. They put her in earth by King Arthur To the chant of a doleful tune. They heaped the earth on Guinevere And Launcelot fell in a swoon. Sir Launcelot went to the hermitage Some Grace of God to find; But never he ate, and never he drank And there he sickened and dwined. Sir Launcelot lay in a painful bed, And spake with a dreary steven; Sir Bishop, I pray you shrive my soul And make it clean for heaven. The Bishop houseled Sir Launcelot, The Bishop kept watch and ward. Bury me, saith Sir Launcelot, In the earth of Joyous Guard. Three candles burned the whole night through Till the red dawn looked in the room. And the white, white soul of Launcelot Strove with a black, black doom. I see the old witch Dame Brisen, And Elaine so straight and tall-- Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, The shadows dance on the wall. I see long hands of dead women, They clutch for my soul eftsoon; Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, 'Tis the drifting light of the moon. I see three angels, saith he, Before a silver urn. Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, The candles do but burn. I see a cloth of red samite O'er the holy vessels spread. Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, The great dawn groweth red. I see all the torches of the world Shine in the room so clear. Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, The white dawn draweth near. Sweet lady, I behold the face Of thy dear son, our Lord, Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury, The sun shines on your sword. Sir Galahad outstretcheth hands And taketh me ere I fail-- Sir Launcelot's body lay in death As his soul found the Holy Grail. They laid his body in the quire Upon a purple pall. He was the meekest, gentlest knight That ever ate in hall. He was the kingliest, goodliest knight That ever England roved, The truest lover of sinful man That ever woman loved. I pray you all, fair gentlemen, Pray for his soul and mine. He lived to lose the heart he loved And drink but bitter wine.