I am dying. Start not, nor look wildly!
Me, thy living friend, thou canst not save.
But, since living we were ununited,
Go not far, O Iseult! from my grave.
Close mine eyes, then seek the princess Iseult;
Speak her fair, she is of royal blood.
Say, I charged her, that thou stay beside me:
She will grant it; she is kind and good.
Now to sail the seas of death I leave thee—
One last kiss upon the living shore!
ISEULT.
Tristram! Tristram! stay—receive me with thee!
Iseult leaves thee, Tristram! nevermore.
········
You see them clear—the moon shines bright.
Slow, slow and softly, where she stood,
She sinks upon the ground; her hood
Had fallen back, her arms outspread
Still hold her lover's hands; her head
Is bowed, half-buried, on the bed.
O'er the blanched sheet, her raven hair
Lies in disordered streams; and there,
Strung like white stars, the pearls still are;
And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare,
Flash on her white arms still,—
The very same which yesternight
Flashed in the silver sconces' light,
When the feast was gay and the laughter loud
In Tyntagel's palace proud.
