Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/171

 And all its light of heaven a shadow of hell, Fades, falls, wanes, withers by none other spell But theirs whose eyes and ears have seen and heard Not the face naked, not the perfect word, But the bright sound and feature felt from far Of life which feeds the spirit and the star, Thrills the live light of all the suns that roll, And stirs the still sealed springs of every soul. Three dim days through, three slumberless nights long, Perplexed at dawn, oppressed at evensong, The strong man's soul now sealed indeed with pain, And all its springs half dried with drought, had lain Prisoner within the fleshly dungeon-dress Sore chafed and wasted with its weariness. And fain it would have found the star, and fain Made this funereal prison-house of pain A watch-tower whence its eyes might sweep, and see If any place for any hope might be Beyond the hells and heavens of sleep and strife, Or any light at all of any life Beyond the dense false darkness woven above, And could not, lacking grace to look on love, And in the third night's dying hour he spake, Seeing scarce the seals that bound the dayspring break And scarce the daystar burn above the sea: 'O Ganhardine, my brother true to me, I charge thee by those nights and days we knew No great while since in England, by the dew