Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/314

 Was this man Merlin who came now so slowly Towards the fountain where she stood again In shimmering green? Trembling, he took her hands And pressed them fondly, one upon the other, Between his: "I was wrong that other day, For I have one more story. I am old." He waited like one hungry for the word Not said; and she found in his eyes a light As patient as a candle in a window That looks upon the sea and is a mark For ships that have gone down. "Tomorrow," he said; "Tomorrow I shall go away again To Camelot; and I shall see the King Once more; and I may come to you again Once more; and I shall go away again For ever. There is now no more than that For me to do ; and I shall do no more. I saw too much when I saw Camelot; And I saw farther backward into Time, And forward, than a man may see and live, When I made Arthur king. I saw too far, But not so far as this. Fate played with me As I have played with Time; and Time, like me, Being less than Fate, will have on me his vengeance. On Fate there is no vengeance, even for God." He drew her slowly into his embrace And held her there, but when he kissed her lips They were as cold as leaves and had no answer; For Time had given him then, to prove his words, A frozen moment of a woman's life. When Merlin the next morning came again In the same pilgrim robe that he had worn