The Chapel in Lyoness

All day long and every day,From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,And no man came a-near.

Naked to the waist was I,And deep within my breast did lie,Though no man any blood could spy,The truncheon of a spear.

No meat did ever pass my lips.Those days—(Alas! the sunlight slipsFrom off the gilded parclose, dips,And night comes on apace.)

My arms lay back behind my head;Over my raised-up knees was spreadA samite cloth of white and red;A rose lay on my face.

Many a time I tried to shout;But as in dream of battle-rout,My frozen speech would not well out;I could not even weep.

With inward sigh I see the sunFade off the pillars one by one,My heart faints when the day is done,Because I cannot sleep.

Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;Not like a tomb is this my bed,Yet oft I think that I am dead;That round my tomb is writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,Knight of the Table Round,Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;A true knight he was found."

Ah! me, I cannot fathom it. [He sleeps.

All day long and every day,Till his madness pass'd away,I watch'd Ozana as he layWithin the gilded screen.

All my singing moved him not;As I sung my heart grew hot,With the thought of LauncelotFar away, I ween.

So I went a little spaceFrom out the chapel, bathed my faceIn the stream that runs apaceBy the churchyard wall.

There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,Hard by where the linden grows,Sighing over silver rowsOf the lilies tall.

I laid the flower across his mouth;The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth,He smiled, turn'd round toward the south,Held up a golden tress.

The light smote on it from the west:He drew the covering from his breast,Against his heart that hair he prest;Death him soon will bless.

I enter'd by the western door;I saw a knight's helm lying there:I raised my eyes from off the floor,And caught the gleaming of his hair.

I stept full softly up to him;I laid my chin upon his head;I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,I was so glad he was not dead.

I heard Ozana murmur low,"There comes no sleep nor any love."But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.

There comes no sleep nor any love;Ah me! I shiver with delight.I am so weak I cannot move;God move me to thee, dear, to-night!Christ help! I have but little wit;My life went wrong; I see it writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,Knight of the Table Round,Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;A good knight he was found."

Now I begin to fathom it. [He dies.

Galahad sits dreamily:What strange things may his eyes see,Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?On his soul, Lord, have mercy.

Ozana, shall I pray for thee?Her cheek is laid to thine;No long time hence, also I seeThy wasted fingers twine

Within the tresses of her hairThat shineth gloriously,Thinly outspread in the clear airAgainst the jasper sea.