_Senias._ The King did wrong to abrogate our right, But Seanchan, who talks of dying for it, Talks foolishly. Look at us, Seanchan, Waken out of your dream and look at us, Who have ridden under the moon and all the day, Until the moon has all but come again, That we might be beside you. [_SEANCHAN turns half round leaning on his elbow, and speaks as if in a dream._ _Seanchan._ I was but now At Almhuin, in a great high-raftered house, With Finn and Osgar. Odours of roast flesh Rose round me and I saw the roasting spits, And then the dream was broken, and I saw Grania dividing salmon by a pool, And then I was awakened by your voice. _Senias._ It is your hunger that makes you dream of flesh Roasting, and for your hunger I could weep; And yet the hunger of the crane that starves Because the moonlight glittering on the pool And flinging a pale shadow has made it shy, Seems to me little more fantastical Than this that’s blown into so great a trouble. _Seanchan._ [_Who has turned away again._] There is much truth in that, for all things change At times, as if the moonlight altered them, And my mind alters as if it were the crane’s; For when the heavy body has grown weak There’s nothing that can tether the wild mind That being moonstruck and fantastical Goes where it fancies. I had even thought I knew your voice and face, but now the words Are so unlikely that I needs must ask Who is it that bids me put my hunger by? _Senias._ I am your oldest pupil, Seanchan; The one that has been with you many years, So many that you said at Candlemas That I had almost done with school, and knew All but all that poets understand. _Seanchan._ My oldest pupil. No, that cannot be; For it is someone of the courtly crowds That have been round about me from sunrise And I am tricked by dreams, but I’ll refute them. I asked the pupil that I loved the best, At Candlemas, why poetry is honoured, Wishing to know how he’d defend our craft In distant lands among strange churlish Kings. And he’d an answer. _Senias._ I said the poets hung Images of the life that was in Eden About the childbed of the world, that it, Looking upon those images, might bear Triumphant children; but why must I stand here Repeating an old lesson while you starve? _Seanchan._ Tell on, for I begin to know the voice; What evil thing will come upon the world If the arts perish? _Senias._ If the arts should perish The world that lacked them would be like a woman That looking on the cloven lips of a hare Brings forth a hare-lipped child. _Seanchan._ But that’s not all. For when I asked you how a man should guard Those images you had an answer also, If you’re the man that you have claimed to be, Comparing them to venerable things God gave to men before he gave them wheat.