Merlin. Nay, nothing, save the visions we have lost,

The autumn mornings with their frosty prime,

The dreams of youth like bells at eventime

Ringing their golden longings down the mist.

Arthur. And be we dead, Father?

Merlin. Yea, I am dead to one great hope I had,

And thou art dead to what thou mightst have been,

And he is dead to what is best of all,

The holiest blossom on life’s golden tree.

Arthur. And what be that, Father?

Merlin. Love! Love!

Arthur. Then he be greatest?

Merlin. Yea greater, far, though we completed greatness,

Than either thou or I could ever be.

[Pg 12]

[Pg 12]

Arthur. Then what be he?

Merlin. He is that rare great blossom of this life

Which mortals call a man.

Arthur. A man!

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