free-verse802 lines

Tristram of Lyonesse - I - The Sailing of the Swallow

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

About the middle music of the spring

Came from the castled shore of Ireland's king

A fair ship stoutly sailing, eastward bound

And south by Wales and all its wonders round

To the loud rocks and ringing reaches home

That take the wild wrath of the Cornish foam,

Past Lyonesse unswallowed of the tides

And high Carlion that now the steep sea hides

To the wind-hollowed heights and gusty bays

Of sheer Tintagel, fair with famous days.

Above the stem a gilded swallow shone,

Wrought with straight wings and eyes of glittering stone

As flying sunward oversea, to bear

Green summer with it through the singing air.

And on the deck between the rowers at dawn,

As the bright sail with brightening wind was drawn,

Sat with full face against the strengthening light

Iseult, more fair than foam or dawn was white.

Her gaze was glad past love's own singing of,

And her face lovely past desire of love.

Past thought and speech her maiden motions were,

And a more golden sunrise was her hair.

The very veil of her bright flesh was made

As of light woven and moonbeam-coloured shade

More fine than moonbeams; white her eyelids shone

As snow sun-stricken that endures the sun,

And through their curled and coloured clouds of deep

Luminous lashes thick as dreams in sleep

Shone as the sea's depth swallowing up the sky's

The springs of unimaginable eyes.

As the wave's subtler emerald is pierced through

With the utmost heaven's inextricable blue,

And both are woven and molten in one sleight

Of amorous colour and implicated light

Under the golden guard and gaze of noon,

So glowed their awless amorous plenilune,

Azure and gold and ardent grey, made strange

With fiery difference and deep interchange

Inexplicable of glories multiform;

Now as the sullen sapphire swells toward storm

Foamless, their bitter beauty grew acold,

And now afire with ardour of fine gold.

Her flower-soft lips were meek and passionate,

For love upon them like a shadow sate

Patient, a foreseen vision of sweet things,

A dream with eyes fast shut and plumeless wings

That knew not what man's love or life should be,

Nor had it sight nor heart to hope or see

What thing should come, but childlike satisfied

Watched out its virgin vigil in soft pride

And unkissed expectation; and the glad

Clear cheeks and throat and tender temples had

Such maiden heat as if a rose's blood

Beat in the live heart of a lily-bud.

Between the small round breasts a white way led

Heavenward, and from slight foot to slender head

The whole fair body flower-like swayed and shone

Moving, and what her light hand leant upon

Grew blossom-scented: her warm arms began

To round and ripen for delight of man

That they should clasp and circle: her fresh hands,

Like regent lilies of reflowering lands

Whose vassal firstlings, crown and star and plume,

Bow down to the empire of that sovereign bloom,

Shone sceptreless, and from her face there went

A silent light as of a God content;

Save when, more swift and keen than love or shame,

Some flash of blood, light as the laugh of flame,

Broke it with sudden beam and shining speech,

As dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each

Outshone the last that lightened, and not one

Showed her such things as should be borne and done.

Though hard against her shone the sunlike face

That in all change and wreck of time and place

Should be the star of her sweet living soul.

Nor had love made it as his written scroll

For evil will and good to read in yet;

But smooth and mighty, without scar or fret,

Fresh and high-lifted was the helmless brow

As the oak-tree flower that tops the topmost bough,

Ere it drop off before the perfect leaf;

And nothing save his name he had of grief,

The name his mother, dying as he was born,

Made out of sorrow in very sorrow's scorn,

And set it on him smiling in her sight,

Tristram; who now, clothed with sweet youth and might,

As a glad witness wore that bitter name,

The second symbol of the world for fame.

Famous and full of fortune was his youth

Ere the beard's bloom had left his cheek unsmooth,

And in his face a lordship of strong joy

And height of heart no chance could curb or cloy

Lightened, and all that warmed them at his eyes

Loved them as larks that kindle as they rise

Toward light they turn to music love the blue strong skies.

So like the morning through the morning moved

Tristram, a light to look on and be loved.

Song sprang between his lips and hands, and shone

Singing, and strengthened and sank down thereon

As a bird settles to the second flight,

Then from beneath his harping hands with might

Leapt, and made way and had its fill and died,

And all whose hearts were fed upon it sighed

Silent, and in them all the fire of tears

Burned as wine drunken not with lips but ears.

And gazing on his fervent hands that made

The might of music all their souls obeyed

With trembling strong subservience of delight,

Full many a maid that had him once in sight

Thought in the secret rapture of her heart

In how dark onset had these hands borne part

How oft, and were so young and sweet of skill;

And those red lips whereon the song burned still,

What words and cries of battle had they flung

Athwart the swing and shriek of swords, so young;

And eyes as glad as summer, what strange youth

Fed them so full of happy heart and truth,

That had seen sway from side to sundering side

The steel flow of that terrible springtide

That the moon rules not, but the fire and light

Of men's hearts mixed in the mid mirth of fight.

Therefore the joy and love of him they had

Made thought more amorous in them and more glad

For his fame's sake remembered, and his youth

Gave his fame flowerlike fragrance and soft growth

As of a rose requickening, when he stood

Fair in their eye, a flower of faultless blood.

And that sad queen to whom his life was death,

A rose plucked forth of summer in mid breath,

A star fall'n out of season in mid throe

Of that life's joy that makes the star's life glow,

Made their love sadder toward him and more strong.

And in mid change of time and fight and song

Chance cast him westward on the low sweet strand

Where songs are sung of the old green Irish land,

And the sky loves it, and the sea loves best,

And as a bird is taken to man's breast

The sweet-souled land where sorrow sweetest sings

Is wrapt round with them as with hands and wings

And taken to the sea's heart as a flower.

There in the luck and light of his good hour

Came to the king's court like a noteless man

Tristram, and while some half a season ran

Abode before him harping in his hall,

And taught sweet craft of new things musical

To the dear maiden mouth and innocent hands

That for his sake are famous in all lands.

Yet was not love between them, for their fate

Lay wrapt in its appointed hour at wait,

And had no flower to show yet, and no sting.

But once being vexed with some past wound the king

Bade give him comfort of sweet baths, and then

Should Iseult watch him as his handmaiden,

For his more honour in men's sight, and ease

The hurts he had with holy remedies

Made by her mother's magic in strange hours

Out of live roots and life-compelling flowers.

And finding by the wound's shape in his side

This was the knight by whom their strength had died

And all their might in one man overthrown

Had left their shame in sight of all men shown,

She would have slain him swordless with his sword;

Yet seemed he to her so great and fair a lord

She heaved up hand and smote not; then said he,

Laughing, 'What comfort shall this dead man be,

Damsel? what hurt is for my blood to heal?

But set your hand not near the tooth'd steel

Lest the fang strike it.' 'Yea, the fang,' she said,

'Should it not sting the very serpent dead

That stung mine uncle? for his slayer art thou,

And half my mother's heart is bloodless now

Through thee, that mad'st the veins of all her kin

Bleed in his wounds whose veins through thee ran thin.'

Yet thought she how their hot chief's violent heart

Had flung the fierce word forth upon their part

Which bade to battle the best knight that stood

On Arthur's, and so dying of his wild mood

Had set upon his conqueror's flesh the seal

Of his mishallowed and anointed steel,

Whereof the venom and enchanted might

Made the sign burn here branded in her sight.

These things she stood recasting, and her soul

Subsiding till its wound of wrath were whole

Grew smooth again, as thought still softening stole

Through all its tempered passion; nor might hate

Keep high the fire against him lit of late;

But softly from his smiling sight she passed.

And peace thereafter made between them fast

Made peace between two kingdoms, when he went

Home with hands reconciled and heart content,

To bring fair truce 'twixt Cornwall's wild bright strand

And the long wrangling wars of that loud land.

And when full peace was struck betwixt them twain

Forth must he fare by those green straits again,

And bring back Iseult for a plighted bride

And set to reign at Mark his uncle's side.

So now with feast made and all triumphs done

They sailed between the moonfall and the sun

Under the spent stars eastward; but the queen

Out of wise heart and subtle love had seen

Such things as might be, dark as in a glass,

And lest some doom of these should come to pass

Bethought her with her secret soul alone

To work some charm for marriage unison

And strike the heart of Iseult to her lord

With power compulsive more than stroke of sword.

Therefore with marvellous herbs and spells she wrought

To win the very wonder of her thought,

And brewed it with her secret hands and blest

And drew and gave out of her secret breast

To one her chosen and Iseult's handmaiden,

Brangwain, and bade her hide from sight of men

This marvel covered in a golden cup,

So covering in her heart the counsel up

As in the gold the wondrous wine lay close;

And when the last shout with the last cup rose

About the bride and bridegroom bound to bed,

Then should this one word of her will be said

To her new-married maiden child, that she

Should drink with Mark this draught in unity,

And no lip touch it for her sake but theirs:

For with long love and consecrating prayers

The wine was hallowed for their mouths to pledge;

And if a drop fell from the beaker's edge

That drop should Iseult hold as dear as blood

Shed from her mother's heart to do her good.

And having drunk they twain should be one heart

Who were one flesh till fleshly death should part,

Death, who parts all. So Brangwain swore, and kept

The hid thing by her while she waked or slept.

And now they sat to see the sun again

Whose light of eye had looked on no such twain

Since Galahault in the rose-time of the year

Brought Launcelot first to sight of Guenevere.

And Tristram caught her changing eyes and said:

'As this day raises daylight from the dead

Might not this face the life of a dead man?'

And Iseult, gazing where the sea was wan

Out of the sun's way, said: 'I pray you not

Praise me, but tell me there in Camelot,

Saving the queen, who hath most name of fair?

I would I were a man and dwelling there,

That I might win me better praise than yours,

Even such as you have; for your praise endures,

That with great deeds ye wring from mouths of men,

But ours, for shame, where is it? Tell me then,

Since woman may not wear a better here,

Who of this praise hath most save Guenevere?'

And Tristram, lightening with a laugh held in,

'Surely a little praise is this to win,

A poor praise and a little! but of these

Hapless, whom love serves only with bowed knees,

Of such poor women fairer face hath none

That lifts her eyes alive against the sun

Than Arthur's sister, whom the north seas call

Mistress of isles; so yet majestical

Above the crowns on younger heads she moves,

Outlightening with her eyes our late-born loves.'

'Ah,' said Iseult, 'is she more tall than I?

Look, I am tall;' and struck the mast hard by,

With utmost upward reach of her bright hand;

'And look, fair lord, now, when I rise and stand,

How high with feet unlifted I can touch

Standing straight up; could this queen do thus much?

Nay, over tall she must be then, like me;

Less fair than lesser women. May this be,

That still she stands the second stateliest there,

So more than many so much younger fair,

She, born when yet the king your lord was not,

And has the third knight after Launcelot

And after you to serve her? nay, sir, then

God made her for a godlike sign to men.'

'Ay,' Tristram answered, 'for a sign, a sign,

Would God it were not! for no planets shine

With half such fearful forecast of men's fate

As a fair face so more unfortunate.'

Then with a smile that lit not on her brows

But moved upon her red mouth tremulous

Light as a sea-bird's motion oversea,

'Yea,' quoth Iseult, 'the happier hap for me,

With no such face to bring men no such fate.

Yet her might all we women born too late

Praise for good hap, who so enskied above

Not more in age excels us than man's love.'

There came a glooming light on Tristram's face

Answering: 'God keep you better in his grace

Than to sit down beside her in men's sight.

For if men be not blind whom God gives light

And lie not in whose lips he bids truth live,

Great grief shall she be given, and greater give.

For Merlin witnessed of her years ago

That she should work woe and should suffer woe

Beyond the race of women: and in truth

Her face, a spell that knows nor age nor youth,

Like youth being soft, and subtler-eyed than age,

With lips that mock the doom her eyes presage,

Hath on it such a light of cloud and fire,

With charm and change of keen or dim desire,

And over all a fearless look of fear

Hung like a veil across its changing cheer,

Made up of fierce foreknowledge and sharp scorn,

That it were better she had not been born.

For not love's self can help a face which hath

Such insubmissive anguish of wan wrath,

Blind prescience and self-contemptuous hate

Of her own soul and heavy-footed fate,

Writ broad upon its beauty: none the less

Its fire of bright and burning bitterness

Takes with as quick a flame the sense of men

As any sunbeam, nor is quenched again

With any drop of dewfall; yea, I think

No herb of force or blood-compelling drink

Would heal a heart that ever it made hot.

Ay, and men too that greatly love her not,

Seeing the great love of her and Lamoracke,

Make no great marvel, nor look strangely back

When with his gaze about her she goes by

Pale as a breathless and star-quickening sky

Between moonrise and sunset, and moves out

Clothed with the passion of his eyes about

As night with all her stars, yet night is black;

And she, clothed warm with love of Lamoracke,

Girt with his worship as with girdling gold,

Seems all at heart anhungered and acold,

Seems sad at heart and loveless of the light,

As night, star-clothed or naked, is but night.'

And with her sweet eyes sunken, and the mirth

Dead in their look as earth lies dead in earth

That reigned on earth and triumphed, Iseult said:

'Is it her shame of something done and dead

Or fear of something to be born and done

That so in her soul's eye puts out the sun?'

And Tristram answered: 'Surely, as I think,

This gives her soul such bitterness to drink,

The sin born blind, the sightless sin unknown,

Wrought when the summer in her blood was blown

But scarce aflower, and spring first flushed her will

With bloom of dreams no fruitage should fulfil,

When out of vision and desire was wrought

The sudden sin that from the living thought

Leaps a live deed and dies not: then there came

On that blind sin swift eyesight like a flame

Touching the dark to death, and made her mad

With helpless knowledge that too late forbade

What was before the bidding: and she knew

How sore a life dead love should lead her through

To what sure end how fearful; and though yet

Nor with her blood nor tears her way be wet

And she look bravely with set face on fate,

Yet she knows well the serpent hour at wait

Somewhere to sting and spare not; ay, and he,

Arthur'

'The king,' quoth Iseult suddenly,

'Doth the king too live so in sight of fear?

They say sin touches not a man so near

As shame a woman; yet he too should be

Part of the penance, being more deep than she

Set in the sin.'

'Nay,' Tristram said, 'for thus

It fell by wicked hap and hazardous,

That wittingly he sinned no more than youth

May sin and be assoiled of God and truth,

Repenting; since in his first year of reign

As he stood splendid with his foemen slain

And light of new-blown battles, flushed and hot

With hope and life, came greeting from King Lot

Out of his wind-worn islands oversea,

And homage to my king and fealty

Of those north seas wherein the strange shapes swim,

As from his man; and Arthur greeted him

As his good lord and courteously, and bade

To his high feast; who coming with him had

This Queen Morgause of Orkney, his fair wife,

In the green middle Maytime of her life,

And scarce in April was our king's as then,

And goodliest was he of all flowering men,

And of what graft as yet himself knew not;

But cold as rains in autumn was King Lot

And grey-grown out of season: so there sprang

Swift love between them, and all spring through sang

Light in their joyous hearing; for none knew

The bitter bond of blood between them two,

Twain fathers but one mother, till too late

The sacred mouth of Merlin set forth fate

And brake the secret seal on Arthur's birth,

And showed his ruin and his rule on earth

Inextricable, and light on lives to be.

For surely, though time slay us, yet shall we

Have such high name and lordship of good days

As shall sustain us living, and men's praise

Shall burn a beacon lit above us dead.

And of the king how shall not this be said

When any of us from any mouth has praise,

That such were men in only this king's days,

In Arthur's? yea, come shine or shade, no less

His name shall be one name with knightliness,

His fame one light with sunlight. Yet in sooth

His age shall bear the burdens of his youth

And bleed from his own bloodshed; for indeed

Blind to him blind his sister brought forth seed,

And of the child between them shall be born

Destruction: so shall God not suffer scorn,

Nor in men's souls and lives his law lie dead.'

And as one moved and marvelling Iseult said:

'Great pity it is and strange it seems to me

God could not do them so much right as we,

Who slay not men for witless evil done;

And these the noblest under God's glad sun

For sin they knew not he that knew shall slay,

And smite blind men for stumbling in fair day.

What good is it to God that such should die?

Shall the sun's light grow sunnier in the sky

Because their light of spirit is clean put out?'

And sighing, she looked from wave to cloud about,

And even with that the full-grown feet of day

Sprang upright on the quivering water-way,

And his face burned against her meeting face

Most like a lover's thrilled with great love's grace

Whose glance takes fire and gives; the quick sea shone

And shivered like spread wings of angels blown

By the sun's breath before him; and a low

Sweet gale shook all the foam-flowers of thin snow

As into rainfall of sea-roses shed

Leaf by wild leaf on that green garden-bed

Which tempests till and sea-winds turn and plough:

For rosy and fiery round the running prow

Fluttered the flakes and feathers of the spray,

And bloomed like blossoms cast by God away

To waste on the ardent water; swift the moon

Withered to westward as a face in swoon

Death-stricken by glad tidings: and the height

Throbbed and the centre quivered with delight

And the depth quailed with passion as of love,

Till like the heart of some new-mated dove

Air, light, and wave seemed full of burning rest,

With motion as of one God's beating breast.

And her heart sprang in Iseult, and she drew

With all her spirit and life the sunrise through,

And through her lips the keen triumphant air

Sea-scented, sweeter than land-roses were,

And through her eyes the whole rejoicing east

Sun-satisfied, and all the heaven at feast

Spread for the morning; and the imperious mirth

Of wind and light that moved upon the earth,

Making the spring, and all the fruitful might

And strong regeneration of delight

That swells the seedling leaf and sapling man,

Since the first life in the first world began

To burn and burgeon through void limbs and veins,

And the first love with sharp sweet procreant pains

To pierce and bring forth roses; yea, she felt

Through her own soul the sovereign morning melt,

And all the sacred passion of the sun;

And as the young clouds flamed and were undone

About him coming, touched and burnt away

In rosy ruin and yellow spoil of day,

The sweet veil of her body and corporal sense

Felt the dawn also cleave it, and incense

With light from inward and with effluent heat

The kindling soul through fleshly hands and feet.

And as the august great blossom of the dawn

Burst, and the full sun scarce from sea withdrawn

Seemed on the fiery water a flower afloat,

So as a fire the mighty morning smote

Throughout her, and incensed with the influent hour

Her whole soul's one great mystical red flower

Burst, and the bud of her sweet spirit broke

Rose-fashion, and the strong spring at a stroke

Thrilled, and was cloven, and from the full sheath came

The whole rose of the woman red as flame:

And all her Mayday blood as from a swoon

Flushed, and May rose up in her and was June.

So for a space her heart as heavenward burned:

Then with half summer in her eyes she turned,

And on her lips was April yet, and smiled,

As though the spirit and sense unreconciled

Shrank laughing back, and would not ere its hour

Let life put forth the irrevocable flower.

And the soft speech between them grew again

With questionings and records of what men

Rose mightiest, and what names for love or fight

Shone starriest overhead of queen or knight.

There Tristram spake of many a noble thing,

High feast and storm of tournay round the king,

Strange quest by perilous lands of marsh and brake

And circling woods branch-knotted like a snake

And places pale with sins that they had seen,

Where was no life of red fruit or of green

But all was as a dead face wan and dun;

And bowers of evil builders whence the sun

Turns silent, and the moon holds hardly light

Above them through the sick and star-crossed night;

And of their hands through whom such holds lay waste,

And all their strengths dishevelled and defaced

Fell ruinous, and were not from north to south:

And of the might of Merlin's ancient mouth,

The son of no man's loins, begot by doom

In speechless sleep out of a spotless womb;

For sleeping among graves where none had rest

And ominous houses of dead bones unblest

Among the grey grass rough as old rent hair

And wicked herbage whitening like despair

And blown upon with blasts of dolorous breath

From gaunt rare gaps and hollow doors of death,

A maid unspotted, senseless of the spell,

Felt not about her breathe some thing of hell

Whose child and hers was Merlin; and to him

Great light from God gave sight of all things dim

And wisdom of all wondrous things, to say

What root should bear what fruit of night or day,

And sovereign speech and counsel higher than man;

Wherefore his youth like age was wise and wan,

And his age sorrowful and fain to sleep;

Yet should sleep never, neither laugh nor weep,

Till in some depth of deep sweet land or sea

The heavenly hands of holier Nimue,

That was the nurse of Launcelot, and most sweet

Of all that move with magical soft feet

Among us, being of lovelier blood and breath,

Should shut him in with sleep as kind as death:

For she could pass between the quick and dead:

And of her love toward Pelleas, for whose head

Love-wounded and world-wearied she had won

A place beyond all pain in Avalon;

And of the fire that wasted afterward

The loveless eyes and bosom of Ettarde,

In whose false love his faultless heart had burned;

And now being rapt from her, her lost heart yearned

To seek him, and passed hungering out of life:

And after all the thunder-hours of strife

That roared between King Claudas and King Ban

How Nimue's mighty nursling waxed to man,

And how from his first field such grace he got

That all men's hearts bowed down to Launcelot,

And how the high prince Galahault held him dear

And led him even to love of Guenevere

And to that kiss which made break forth as fire

The laugh that was the flower of his desire,

The laugh that lightened at her lips for bliss

To win from Love so great a lover's kiss:

And of the toil of Balen all his days

To reap but thorns for fruit and tears for praise,

Whose hap was evil as his heart was good,

And all his works and ways by wold and wood

Led through much pain to one last labouring day

When blood for tears washed grief with life away:

And of the kin of Arthur, and their might;

The misborn head of Mordred, sad as night,

With cold waste cheeks and eyes as keen as pain,

And the close angry lips of Agravaine;

And gracious Gawain, scattering words as flowers,

The kindliest head of worldly paramours;

And the fair hand of Gareth, found in fight

Strong as a sea-beast's tushes and as white;

And of the king's self, glorious yet and glad

For all the toil and doubt of doom he had,

Clothed with men's loves and full of kingly days.

Then Iseult said: 'Let each knight have his praise

And each good man good witness of his worth;

But when men laud the second name on earth,

Whom would they praise to have no worldly peer

Save him whose love makes glorious Guenevere?'

'Nay,' Tristram said, 'such man as he is none.'

'What,' said she, 'there is none such under sun

Of all the large earth's living? yet I deemed

Men spake of one, but maybe men that dreamed,

Fools and tongue-stricken, witless, babbler's breed,

That for all high things was his peer indeed

Save this one highest, to be so loved and love.'

And Tristram: 'Little wit had these thereof;

For there is none such in the world as this.'

'Ay, upon land,' quoth Iseult, 'none such is,

I doubt not, nor where fighting folk may be;

But were there none such between sky and sea,

The world's whole worth were poorer than I wist.'

And Tristram took her flower-white hand and kissed,

Laughing; and through his fair face as in shame

The light blood lightened. 'Hear they no such name?'

She said; and he, 'If there be such a word,

I wot the queen's poor harper hath not heard.'

Then, as the fuller-feathered hours grew long,

He holp to speed their warm slow feet with song.

'Love, is it morning risen or night deceased

That makes the mirth of this triumphant east?

Is it bliss given or bitterness put by

That makes most glad men's hearts at love's high feast?

Grief smiles, joy weeps, that day should liveand die.

'Is it with soul's thirst or with body's drouth

That summer yearns out sunward to the south,

With all the flowers that when thy birth drew nigh

Were molten in one rose to make thy mouth?

O love, what care though day should live and die?

'Is the sun glad of all the love on earth,

The spirit and sense and work of things and worth?

Is the moon sad because the month must fly

And bring her death that can but bring back birth?

For all these things as day must live and die.

'Love, is it day that makes thee thy delight

Or thou that seest day made out of thy light?

Love, as the sun and sea are thou and I,

Sea without sun dark, sun without sea bright;

The sun is one though day should live and die.

'O which is elder, night or light, who knows?

And life or love, which first of these twain grows?

For life is born of love to wail and cry,

And love is born of life to heal his woes,

And light of night, that day should live and die.

'O sun of heaven above the worldly sea,

O very love, what light is this of thee!

My sea of soul is deep as thou art high,

But all thy light is shed through all of me,

As love's through love, while day shall live and die.

'Nay,' said Iseult, 'your song is hard to read.'

'Ay?' said he: 'or too light a song to heed,

Too slight to follow, it may be? Who shall sing

Of love but as a churl before a king

If by love's worth men rate his worthiness?

Yet as the poor churl's worth to sing is less,

Surely the more shall be the great king's grace

To show for churlish love a kindlier face.'

'No churl,' she said, 'but one in soothsayer's wise

Who tells but truths that help no more than lies.

I have heard men sing of love a simpler way

Than these wrought riddles made of night and day,

Like jewelled reins whereon the rhyme-bells hang.'

And Tristram smiled and changed his song and sang.

'The breath between my lips of lips not mine,

Like spirit in sense that makes pure sense divine,

Is as life in them from the living sky

That entering fills my heart with blood of thine

And thee with me, while day shall live and die.

'Thy soul is shed into me with thy breath,

And in my heart each heartbeat of thee saith

How in thy life the lifesprings of me lie,

Even one life to be gathered of one death

In me and thee, though day may live and die.

'Ah, who knows now if in my veins it be

My blood that feels life sweet, or blood of thee,

And this thine eyesight kindled in mine eye

That shows me in thy flesh the soul of me,

For thine made mine, while day may live and die?

'Ah, who knows yet if one be twain or one,

And sunlight separable again from sun,

And I from thee with all my lifesprings dry,

And thou from me with all thine heartbeats done,

Dead separate souls while day shall live and die?

'I see my soul within thine eyes, and hear

My spirit in all thy pulses thrill with fear,

And in my lips the passion of thee sigh,

And music of me made in mine own ear;

Am I not thou while day shall live and die?

'Art thou not I as I thy love am thou?

So let all things pass from us; we are now,

For all that was and will be, who knows why?

And all that is and is not, who knows how?

Who knows? God knows why day should live and die.'

And Iseult mused and spake no word, but sought

Through all the hushed ways of her tongueless thought

What face or covered likeness of a face

In what veiled hour or dream-determined place

She seeing might take for love's face, and believe

This was the spirit to whom all spirits cleave.

For that sweet wonder of the twain made one

And each one twain, incorporate sun with sun,

Star with star molten, soul with soul imbued,

And all the soul's works, all their multitude,

Made one thought and one vision and one song,

Love, this thing, this, laid hand on her so strong

She could not choose but yearn till she should see.

So went she musing down her thoughts; but he,

Sweet-hearted as a bird that takes the sun

With clear strong eyes and feels the glad god run

Bright through his blood and wide rejoicing wings,

And opens all himself to heaven and sings,

Made her mind light and full of noble mirth

With words and songs the gladdest grown on earth,

Till she was blithe and high of heart as he.

So swam the Swallow through the springing sea.

And while they sat at speech as at a feast,

Came a light wind fast hardening forth of the east

And blackening till its might had marred the skies;

And the sea thrilled as with heart-sundering sighs

One after one drawn, with each breath it drew,

And the green hardened into iron blue,

And the soft light went out of all its face.

Then Tristram girt him for an oarsman's place

And took his oar and smote, and toiled with might

In the east wind's full face and the strong sea's spite

Labouring; and all the rowers rowed hard, but he

More mightily than any wearier three.

And Iseult watched him rowing with sinless eyes

That loved him but in holy girlish wise

For noble joy in his fair manliness

And trust and tender wonder; none the less

She thought if God had given her grace to be

Man, and make war on danger of earth and sea,

Even such a man she would be; for his stroke

Was mightiest as the mightier water broke,

And in sheer measure like strong music drave

Clean through the wet weight of the wallowing wave;

And as a tune before a great king played

For triumph was the tune their strong strokes made,

And sped the ship through with smooth strife of oars

Over the mid sea's grey foam-paven floors,

For all the loud breach of the waves at will.

So for an hour they fought the storm out still,

And the shorn foam spun from the blades, and high

The keel sprang from the wave-ridge, and the sky

Glared at them for a breath's space through the rain;

Then the bows with a sharp shock plunged again

Down, and the sea clashed on them, and so rose

The bright stem like one panting from swift blows,

And as a swimmer's joyous beaten head

Rears itself laughing, so in that sharp stead

The light ship lifted her long quivering bows

As might the man his buffeted strong brows

Out of the wave-breach; for with one stroke yet

Went all men's oars together, strongly set

As to loud music, and with hearts uplift

They smote their strong way through the drench and drift:

Till the keen hour had chafed itself to death

And the east wind fell fitfully, breath by breath,

Tired; and across the thin and slackening rain

Sprang the face southward of the sun again.

Then all they rested and were eased at heart;

And Iseult rose up where she sat apart,

And with her sweet soul deepening her deep eyes

Cast the furs from her and subtle embroideries

That wrapped her from the storming rain and spray,

And shining like all April in one day,

Hair, face, and throat dashed with the straying showers,

She stood the first of all the whole world's flowers,

And laughed on Tristram with her eyes, and said,

'I too have heart then, I was not afraid.'

And answering some light courteous word of grace

He saw her clear face lighten on his face

Unwittingly, with unenamoured eyes,

For the last time. A live man in such wise

Looks in the deadly face of his fixed hour

And laughs with lips wherein he hath no power

To keep the life yet some five minutes' space.

So Tristram looked on Iseult face to face

And knew not, and she knew not. The last time,

The last that should be told in any rhyme

Heard anywhere on mouths of singing men

That ever should sing praise of them again;

The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest,

The last that peace should touch them, breast to breast,

The last that sorrow far from them should sit,

This last was with them, and they knew not it.

For Tristram being athirst with toil now spake,

Saying, 'Iseult, for all dear love's labour's sake

Give me to drink, and give me for a pledge

The touch of four lips on the beaker's edge.'

And Iseult sought and would not wake Brangwain

Who slept as one half dead with fear and pain,

Being tender-natured; so with hushed light feet

Went Iseult round her, with soft looks and sweet

Pitying her pain; so sweet a spirited thing

She was, and daughter of a kindly king.

And spying what strange bright secret charge was kept

Fast in that maid's white bosom while she slept,

She sought and drew the gold cup forth and smiled

Marvelling, with such light wonder as a child

That hears of glad sad life in magic lands;

And bare it back to Tristram with pure hands

Holding the love-draught that should be for flame

To burn out of them fear and faith and shame,

And lighten all their life up in men's sight,

And make them sad for ever. Then the knight

Bowed toward her and craved whence had she this strange thing

That might be spoil of some dim Asian king,

By starlight stolen from some waste place of sands,

And a maid bore it here in harmless hands.

And Iseult, laughing, 'Other lords that be

Feast, and their men feast after them; but we,

Our men must keep the best wine back to feast

Till they be full and we of all men least

Feed after them and fain to fare so well:

So with mine handmaid and your squire it fell

That hid this bright thing from us in a wile:'

And with light lips yet full of their swift smile,

And hands that wist not though they dug a grave,

Undid the hasps of gold, and drank, and gave,

And he drank after, a deep glad kingly draught:

And all their life changed in them, for they quaffed

Death; if it be death so to drink, and fare

As men who change and are what these twain were.

And shuddering with eyes full of fear and fire

And heart-stung with a serpentine desire

He turned and saw the terror in her eyes

That yearned upon him shining in such wise

As a star midway in the midnight fixed.

Their Galahault was the cup, and she that mixed;

Nor other hand there needed, nor sweet speech

To lure their lips together; each on each

Hung with strange eyes and hovered as a bird

Wounded, and each mouth trembled for a word;

Their heads neared, and their hands were drawn in one,

And they saw dark, though still the unsunken sun

Far through fine rain shot fire into the south;

And their four lips became one burning mouth.