I put my armour on, Thinking on what they said: 'Thou art a king's own son, 'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.' THE WITCH. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair! RAPUNZEL. See on the marble parapet, I lean my brow, strive to forget That fathoms below my hair grows wet With the dew, my golden hair. THE PRINCE. I rode throughout the town, Men did not bow the head, Though I was the king's own son: He rides to dream, they said. THE WITCH. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Wind up your hair! RAPUNZEL. See on the marble parapet, The faint red stains with tears are wet; The long years pass, no help comes yet To free my golden hair. THE PRINCE. For leagues and leagues I rode, Till hot my armour grew, Till underneath the leaves I felt the evening dew. THE WITCH. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Weep through your hair! RAPUNZEL. And yet: but I am growing old, For want of love my heart is cold; Years pass, the while I loose and fold The fathoms of my hair. THE PRINCE, _in the morning_. I have heard tales of men, who in the night Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven, Who followed them until they reach'd the light Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven; But who went backward when they saw the gate Of diamond, nor dared to enter in; All their life long they were content to wait, Purging them patiently of every sin. I must have had a dream of some such thing, And now am just awaking from that dream; For even in grey dawn those strange words ring Through heart and brain, and still I see that gleam. For in my dream at sunset-time I lay Beneath these beeches, mail and helmet off, Right full of joy that I had come away From court; for I was patient of the scoff That met me always there from day to day, From any knave or coward of them all: I was content to live that wretched way; For truly till I left the council-hall, And rode forth arm'd beneath the burning sun, My gleams of happiness were faint and few, But then I saw my real life had begun, And that I should be strong quite well I knew. For I was riding out to look for love, Therefore the birds within the thickets sung, Even in hot noontide; as I pass'd, above The elms o'ersway'd with longing towards me hung. Now some few fathoms from the place where I Lay in the beech-wood, was a tower fair, The marble corners faint against the sky; And dreamily I wonder'd what lived there: