In memory of days when my meat was but little And my drink drunk in haste between saddle and straw. But lo! midst of my triumph, as I noted the feigning Of the last foeman humbled, and the hall fell a murmuring, And blithely the horns blew, Be glad, spring prevaileth,     —As I sat there and changed not, my soul saw a vision:     All folk faded away, and my love that I long for Came with raiment a-rustling along the hall pavement, Drawing near to the high-seat, with hands held out a little, Till her hallowed eyes drew me a space into heaven, And her lips moved to whisper, 'Come, love, for I weary!'     Then she turned and went from me, and I heard her feet     falling On the floor of the hall, e'en as though it were empty Of all folk but us twain in the hush of the dawning. Then again, all was gone, and I sat there a smiling On the faint-smiling legate, as the hall windows quivered With the rain of the early night sweeping across them. Nought slept I that night, yet I saw her without sleeping:—     Betwixt midnight and morn of that summer-tide was I Amidst of the lilies by her house-door to hearken If perchance in her chamber she turned amid sleeping:     When lo, as the East 'gan to change, and stars faded Were her feet on the stairs, and the door opened softly, And she stood on the threshold with the eyes of one seeking, And there, gathering the folds of her gown to her girdle, Went forth through the garden and followed the highway, All along the green valley, and I ever beside her, Till the light of the low sun just risen was falling On her feet in the first of the pass—and all faded. Yet from her unto me had gone forth her intent, And I saw her face set to the heart of that city, And the quays where the ships of the outlanders come to, And I said: She is seeking, and shall I not seek? The sea is her prison wall; where is my prison?     —Yet I said: Here men praise me, perchance men may love me If I live long enough for my justice and mercy To make them just and merciful—one who is master Of many poor folk, a man pity moveth Love hath dealt with in this wise, no minstrel nor dreamer. The deeds that my hand might find for the doing Did desire undo them these four years of fight? And now time and fair peace in my heart have begotten More desire and more pain, is the day of deeds done with? Lo here for my part my bonds and my prison!—     Then with hands holding praise, yet with fierce heart belike Did I turn to the people that I had delivered—     And the deeds of this year passed shall live peradventure! But now came no solace of dreams in the night-tide From that day 

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