How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail.
Through the wood the sunny day
Glimmered sweetly glad; Through the wood his weary way
Rode sir Galahad.
All about stood open porch,
Long-drawn cloister dim; 'Twas a wavering wandering church
Every side of him.
On through columns arching high,
Foliage-vaulted, he Rode in thirst that made him sigh,
Came the moon, and through the trees
Glimmered faintly sad; Withered, worn, and ill at ease
Down lay Galahad;
Closed his eyes and took no heed
What might come or pass; Heard his hunger-busy steed
Cropping dewy grass.
Cool and juicy was the blade,
Good to him as wine: For his labour he was paid,
Galahad must pine!
Late had he at Arthur's board,
Arthur strong and wise, Pledged the cup with friendly lord,
Looked in ladies' eyes;
Now, alas! he wandered wide,
Resting never more, Over lake and mountain-side,
Over sea and shore!
Swift in vision rose and fled
All he might have had; Weary tossed his restless head,
And his heart grew sad.
With the lowliest in the land
He a maiden fair Might have led with virgin hand
From the altar-stair:
Youth away with strength would glide,
Age bring frost and woe; Through the world so dreary wide
Mateless he must go!
Lost was life and all its good,
Gone without avail! All his labour never would
Find the Holy Grail!