Poems (Taylor)/Arthurian Songs

by Rachel Annand Taylor

ARTHURIAN SONGS

I. Avalon

  King Arthur lies alone  Deep down in Avalon.

  Alone! For what fair knight  Is loyal quite?

Could golden Pelleas be lainTo drowse between delight and pain?

Could Tristram's musique here be borne,Or the great blast of Gawain's horn?

It is no land for GalahadWhere none are good and none are bad.

It is no land for LancelotWhere sweet and bitter are forgot.

For that proud soul of Guenevere's,And her long ransom of bright tears

It is no land,—where none may weep,Between reveillé and faint sleep.

Swung soft tween heaven and hell, it seemsA crystal in a cloud of dreams.

Yet doth some one pass that way.Is it, is it Morgan la Faye?—

Saying: "Was it love or hate?"Saying: "But the wound is great."

So, amid the poppies white,Long rests Arthur, King and Knight.

  King Arthur lies alone,  Deep down in Avalon.

  Alone! For what fair knight  Is loyal quite?

II. The End

"Now leave we Queen Guenever in Aymesbury, thatwas a nun in white clothes and in black."Morte d'Arthur.

Queen Guenevere a-maying rode In green and gold, alack!Queen Guenevere God's vassal died In white clothes and in black.

In gold and green I follow her; Nor God will call me back.For I shall die in Aymesbury, In white clothes and in black.

III. Sarras

"But yet hast thou not seen it [the Grail] openly asthou shalt see it in the city of Sarras, in the Spiritual Place."Morte d'Arthur.

Far in the Town of Sarras, Red-rose the gloamings fall,For in her heart of wonder Flames the Sangréal.

The gleaming fosses ring her, Haut dreams her turrets are.She riseth o'er the desert Like the great Magian Star.

Through the o'er-castled portals The knights ride out and in;Their tired sweet heads all drooping, They pray away their sin.

Upon the carven causeway Pass damozels in vairAnd samite dropped with flamelets, Crowned on their ashen hair.

Into the Town of Sarras, Most delicate and sad,Like a measure of rare music Came Lord Galahad.

The Crown of Gold he beareth, A dream-king exquisite,Till the fair Lord of Heaven Yet closer needs his knight.·····Dreams of the Town of Sarras, Ye ever give me dole,With dome and steeple staining Horizons of my soul!

But where the Grail-Knight entered, Ah! me! I enter not,For hard my spirit follows The ways of Launcelot.

By ruined cross and chapel I lie in shameful trance.Within, the High Masque burneth, The Saving Cup, the Lance.—

Home to the Bower of Roses, The viols calling clear,To Love's most perfect Lover! Oh! Home to Guenevere.

IV. Guenevere

God rest the Lady Guenevere, For much hath He required.God rest the Lady Guenevere, For surely she is tired.

If, in the hidden rosery It was so white and red,Was it not grey in Aymesbury Till the bells rang her dead?

God rest her eyes, whereon Love wrote His golden Masque, untilThe vision of the Doomsday smote And smouldered longer still.

God rest her weary golden head, For it was fair to see!The queen of lovers, she is dead, And for her soul pray we.