Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/370

 Like phantoms that glimmer Of glories of old With ever yet dimmer Pale circlets of gold As darkness grows grimmer And memory more cold.

Like hope growing clearer With wane of the moon, Shines toward us the nearer Gold frontlet of June, And a face with it dearer Than midsummer noon.