Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/203

 What souls the darkness covers, What love‑lost souls of lovers, Whose cry still hangs and hovers In each man's born that hears.

For there by Hector's brother And yet some thousand other He that had grief to mother Passed pale from Dante's sight; With one fast linked as fearless, Perchance, there only tearless; Iseult and Tristram, peerless And perfect queen and knight.

A shrill‑winged sound comes flying North, as of wild souls crying The cry of things undying, That know what life must be;