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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538846" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is the longest night in all the year,<br>Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;<br>Six hours ago I came and sat down here,<br>And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door,<br>Sang out a moody tune, that went right well<br>With mine own thoughts: I look'd down on the floor,<br>Between my feet, until I heard a bell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sound a long way off through the forest deep,<br>And toll on steadily; a drowsiness<br>Came on me, so that I fell half asleep,<br>As I sat there not moving: less and less</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw the melted snow that hung in beads<br>Upon my steel-shoes; less and less I saw<br>Between the tiles the bunches of small weeds:<br>Heartless and stupid, with no touch of awe</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground,<br>I thought: O Galahad! the days go by,<br>Stop and cast up now that which you have found,<br>So sorely you have wrought and painfully.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Night after night your horse treads down alone<br>The sere damp fern, night after night you sit<br>Holding the bridle like a man of stone,<br>Dismal, unfriended: what thing comes of it?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And what if Palomydes also ride,<br>And over many a mountain and bare heath<br>Follow the questing beast with none beside?<br>Is he not able still to hold his breath</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale<br>With weary striving, to seem best of all<br>To her, &quot;as she is best,&quot; he saith? to fail<br>Is nothing to him, he can never fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For unto such a man love-sorrow is<br>So dear a thing unto his constant heart,<br>That even if he never win one kiss,<br>Or touch from Iseult, it will never part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he will never know her to be worse<br>Than in his happiest dreams he thinks she is:<br>Good knight, and faithful, you have 'scaped the curse<br>In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out,<br>Can he not think of Guenevere's arms, round<br>Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout<br>Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when he lists can often see her face,<br>And think, &quot;Next month I kiss you, or next week,<br>And still you think of me&quot;: therefore the place<br>Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find<br>Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,<br>When all unkindly with the shifting wind,<br>The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Indeed that they will say: &quot;This Galahad<br>If he had lived had been a right good knight;<br>Ah! poor chaste body!&quot; but they will be glad,<br>Not most alone, but all, when in their sight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That very evening in their scarlet sleeves<br>The gay-dress'd minstrels sing; no maid will talk<br>Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,<br>Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard<br>To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day!<br>Before the trees by autumn were well bared,<br>I saw a damozel with gentle play,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within that very walk say last farewell<br>To her dear knight, just riding out to find<br>(Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,<br>And their last kisses sunk into my mind,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, for she stood lean'd forward on his breast,<br>Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,<br>That it might well be kiss'd, she held and press'd<br>Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann'd</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,<br>Till Mador de la porte a-going by,<br>And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined,<br>And parted like a dream. In this way I,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,<br>Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly<br>A sharp bell rang from close beside the door,<br>And I leapt up when something pass'd me by,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind<br>I stagger'd after, a great sense of awe<br>At every step kept gathering on my mind,<br>Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One sitting on the altar as a throne,<br>Whose face no man could say he did not know,<br>And though the bell still rang, he sat alone,<br>With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,<br>Not as one kneels in church when mass is said,<br>But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt<br>The first time what a thing was perfect dread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But mightily the gentle voice came down:<br>&quot;Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,<br>Good knight of God, for you will see no frown<br>Upon my face; I come to make you glad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;For that you say that you are all alone,<br>I will be with you always, and fear not<br>You are uncared for, though no maiden moan<br>Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;He in good time shall be my servant too,<br>Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,<br>And who has loved him alway, yea, and who<br>Still trusts him alway, though in all men's sight,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;He is just what you know, O Galahad,<br>This love is happy even as you say,<br>But would you for a little time be glad,<br>To make ME sorry long, day after day?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,<br>The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,<br>Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally<br>Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Yea, old and shrivell'd he shall win my love.<br>Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul!<br>Not always is he able, son, to move<br>His love, and do it honour: needs must roll</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,<br>And then 'tis weary work; he strives beside<br>Seem better than he is, so that his trust<br>Is always on what chances may betide;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And so he wears away, my servant, too,<br>When all these things are gone, and wretchedly<br>He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who<br>Is no care now to Palomydes: see,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;O good son, Galahad, upon this day,<br>Now even, all these things are on your side,<br>But these you fight not for; look up, I say,<br>And see how I can love you, for no pride</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.<br>See now you have ME always; following<br>That holy vision, Galahad, go on,<br>Until at last you come to ME to sing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;In Heaven always, and to walk around<br>The garden where I am.&quot; He ceased, my face<br>And wretched body fell upon the ground;<br>And when I look'd again, the holy place</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was empty; but right so the bell again<br>Came to the chapel-door, there entered<br>Two angels first, in white, without a stain,<br>And scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath<br>The very altar-step, and while for fear<br>I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,<br>Those holy ladies gently came a-near,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And quite unarm'd me, saying: &quot;Galahad,<br>Rest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought<br>Of any other thing than being glad;<br>Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.&quot;<br>Right so they went away, and I, being weary,<br>Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,<br>I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, Four Ladies in gowns of red and green; also an Angel, bearing in his hands a surcoat of white, with a red cross.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>AN ANGEL</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O servant of the high God, Galahad!<br>Rise and be arm'd: the Sangreal is gone forth<br>Through the great forest, and you must be had<br>Unto the sea that lieth on the north:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein<br>The spindles of King Solomon are laid,<br>And the sword that no man draweth without sin,<br>But if he be most pure: and there is stay'd,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet<br>In some short space upon that ship: first, though,<br>Will come here presently that lady sweet,<br>Sister of Percival, whom you well know,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,<br>These ladies will to arm you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[FIRST LADY, putting on the hauberk]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Galahad,<br>That I may stand so close beneath your brow,<br>Margaret of Antioch, am glad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[SECOND LADY, girding him with the sword.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That I may stand and touch you with my hand,<br>O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[THIRD LADY, buckling on the spurs.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That I may kneel while up above you stand,<br>And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,<br>I, Lucy, am most glad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[FOURTH LADY, putting on the basnet.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O gentle knight,<br>That you bow down to us in reverence,<br>We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight<br>Must needs fall trembling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[ANGEL, putting on the crossed surcoat.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Galahad, we go hence,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For here, amid the straying of the snow,<br>Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[The Four Ladies carry out the bed, and all go but Galahad.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>GALAHAD.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How still and quiet everything seems now:<br>They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival and his Sister.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!<br>A many marvels have been here to-night;<br>Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,<br>And has God's body ever been in sight?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SIR BORS.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,<br>As we were riding slowly side by side,<br>An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,<br>And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;<br>And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good;<br>Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff<br>Kept us all merry, in a little wood</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel<br>And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,<br>Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well<br>Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,<br>Perhaps is dead now; everywhere<br>The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;<br>In vain they struggle for the vision fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Morris">William Morris</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538846" data-title="Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery de William Morris" data-description="It is the longest night in all the year,
Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;
Six hours ago I came and sat down here,
And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn.

The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door,
Sang out a moody tune, that went..."></div>
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