Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/274

 As he knew the cold eyes of Guinevere That yesterday had stabbed him, having first On Lancelot's name struck fire, and left him then As now they left him with a wounded heart, A wounded pride, and a sickening pang worse yet Of lost possession. He thought wearily Of watchers by the dead, late wayfarers, Rough-handed mariners on ships at sea, Lone-yawning sentries, wastrels, and all others Who might be saying somewhere to themselves, "The King is now asleep in Camelot; God save the King." "God save the King, indeed, If there be now a king to save," he said. Then he saw giants rising in the dark, Born horribly of memories and new fears That in the gray-lit irony of dawn Were partly to fade out and be forgotten; And then there might be sleep, and for a time There might again be peace. His head was hot And throbbing; but the rest of him was cold, As he lay staring hard where nothing stood, And hearing what was not, even while he saw And heard, like dust and thunder far away, The coming confirmation of the words Of him who saw eo much and feared so little Of all that was to be. No spoken doom That ever chilled the last night of a felon Prepared a dragging anguish more profound And absolute than Arthur, in these hours, Made out of darkness and of Merlin's words; No tide that ever crashed on Lyonnesse Drove echoes inland that were^ lonelier For widowed ears among the fisher-folk, Than for the King were memories tonight Of old illusions that were dead for ever.