What if his hair that brush'd her cheek Was stiff with frozen rime? His eyes were grown quite blue again, As in the happy time. O, love Louise, this is the key Of the happy golden land! O, sisters, cross the bridge with me, My eyes are full of sand. What matter that I cannot see, If ye take me by the hand? _And ever the great bell overhead, And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead; For their song ceased, and they were dead._ THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS No one goes there now: For what is left to fetch away From the desolate battlements all arow, And the lead roof heavy and grey? _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ No one walks there now; Except in the white moonlight The white ghosts walk in a row; If one could see it, an awful sight, _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ But none can see them now, Though they sit by the side of the moat, Feet half in the water, there in a row, Long hair in the wind afloat. _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ If any will go to it now, He must go to it all alone, Its gates will not open to any row Of glittering spears: will _you_ go alone? _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ By my love go there now, To fetch me my coif away, My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow, Oliver, go to-day! _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ I am unhappy now, I cannot tell you why; If you go, the priests and I in a row Will pray that you may not die. _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ If you will go for me now, I will kiss your mouth at last; [_She sayeth inwardly._] (_The graves stand grey in a row._) Oliver, hold me fast! _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._ GOLDEN WINGS Midways of a walled garden, In the happy poplar land, Did an ancient castle stand, With an old knight for a warden. Many scarlet bricks there were In its walls, and old grey stone; Over which red apples shone At the right time of the year. On the bricks the green moss grew. Yellow lichen on the stone, Over which red apples shone; Little war that castle knew. Deep green water fill'd the moat, Each side had a red-brick lip, Green and mossy with the drip Of dew and rain; there was a boat