Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/257

 And there forgets that any town alive Had ever such a name as Camelot. So Vivian holds him with her love, they say, And he, who has no age, has not grown old. I swear to nothing, but that's what they say. That's being buried in Broceliande For too much wisdom and clairvoyancy. But you and all who live, Gawaine, have heard This tale, or many like it, more than once; And you must know that Love, when Love invites Philosophy to play, plays high and wins, Or low and loses. And you say to me, 'If Merlin would have peace, let Merlin stay Away from Brittany.' Gawaine, you are young, And Merlin's in his grave." "Merlin said once That I was young, and it's a joy for me That I am here to listen while you say it. Young or not young, if that be burial, May I be buried long before I die. I might be worse than young; I might be old." Dagonet answered, and without a smile: "Somehow I fancy Merlin saying that; A fancy a mere fancy." Then he smiled: "And such a doom as his may be for you, Gawaine, should your untiring divination Delve in the veiled eternal mysteries Too far to be a pleasure for the Lord. And when you stake your wisdom for a woman, Compute the woman to be worth a grave, As Merlin did, and say no more about it. But Yivian, she played high. Oh, very high! Flutes, hautboys, drums, and viols, and her love. Gawaine, farewell."