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52 Iseult, Iseult of Ireland, The years are born again, Again Tintagel's towers stand, And blows the corn again, The russet corn again.

Again, again the shoreward waves Make wondrous undertone, That whispers down the forest naves When melody is flown, When twilight birds are flown.

Iseult, Iseult, remember thou How soft the music swept— Nay till the lily moon arow I'll dream that time has slept, All flower-like has slept.

So softly was the harping wrought As in the web of sound The wings of melody were caught, And fluttering music bound, And moth-winged music bound.