Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/260

 Yet some you hardly would forgive Who did you much less wrong Once: but resentment should not live Too long.

They never saw your lip's bright bow, Your swordbright eyes, The bluest of heavenly things below The skies.

Clear eyes that love's self finds most like A swordblade's blue, A swordblade's ever keen to strike, Adieu.

Though all things breathe or sound of fight That yet make up your spell, To bid you were to bid the light Farewell.

Farewell the song says only, being A star whose race is run: Farewell the soul says never, seeing The sun.

Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears, The song must say but so That took your praise up twenty years Ago.