Seemed that she Led me along a flower-showered lea Trammeled with puckered pansy and the pea; Where poppies spread great blood-red stain on stain, So gorged with sunlight and the honeyed rain Their hearts were weary; roses lavished beams; Roses, wherein were huddled little dreams That laughed coy, sidewise merriment, like dew, Or from fair fingers fragrant kisses blew. And suddenly a river cleft the sward; And o'er it lay a mist: and it was hard To see whence came it; whitherward it led; Like some wild, frightened thing, it foamed and fled, Sighing and murmuring, from its fountain-head. And following it, at last I came upon The Region of Romance,--from whence were drawn Its wandering waters,--and the storied wells Of lost Baranton, where old Merlin dwells, Nodding a white poll and a great, gray beard. And then, far off, a woman's voice I heard, Wilder than water, laughing in the bowers, Like some strange bird: and then, through wild-thorn flowers, I saw her limbs glance, twinkling as spring showers; And then, with blown gold curls, tempestuous tossed, White as a wood-nymph, she a vista crossed, Laughing that laugh wherein there was no cheer, But soulless scorn. And so to me drew near Her sweet lascivious brow's white wonderment, And gray, great eyes, and hair which had the scent Of all the wild Brécèliande's perfumes Drowned in it; and, a flame in gold, one bloom's Blood-point thrust deep. And, "Viviane! Viviane!" The wild seemed crying, as if swept with rain; And all the young leaves laughed; and surge on surge Swept the witch-haunted forest to its verge, That shook and sighed and stammered, as, in sleep, A giant half-aroused: and, with a leap, That samite-hazy creature, blossom-white, Showered mocking kisses down; then, like a light Beat into gusty flutterings by the dawn, Then quenched, she glimmered and, behold, was gone; And in Brécèliande I stood alone Gazing at Merlin, sitting on a stone; Old Merlin, charmed there, dreaming drowsy dreams; A wondrous company; as many as gleams That stab the moted mazes of a beech. And each grave dream, behold, had power to reach My mind through magic; each one following each In dim procession; and their beauty drew Tears down my cheeks, and Merlin's gray cheeks, too,-- One in his beard hung tangled, bright as dew.-- Long pageants seemed to pass me, brave and fair, Of courts and tournaments, with silvery blare Of immaterial trumpets high in air; And blazoned banners, shields, and many a spear Of Uther, waved an incorporeal fear: And forms of Arthur rose and Guenevere, Of Tristram and of Isoud and of Mark, And many others; glimmering in the dark Of Merlin's mind, they rose and glared and then,--