What white-winged bird is that which skims the sea?
Quietly in the deep embrasure stands
The lady. Over the deep distant blue
Her soul goes out in gazing, and rests upon
The fillin sails like a caress. A page
Behind her strums his harp-strings all unheard,
And carols underneath his breath a strain
Of roses and of summer nights, and love.
The gulls scream, circling round the tower tops,
And then dip in a white curve to the blue
That washes on the rocks below their nests.
White drifts of cloud like softly on the sky
Like languid birds that float upon their wings.
The swift white bird that furrowed up the waves
Has fled to the horizon and is gone.
The warrior throng winds slowly along,
Farther and farther away;
The sunbeams glance on armor and lance,
The pennants stream forth gay.
The splendid martial music blows,
And brave hearts leap at the name of foes,
And the knights' good steeds step proud and free
In time to the tune of victory.
What form stands tall on the castle wall,
Against the paling sky?
Whose blown bright hair burns to glory where
The gray grim tower looms high?
The lady's clasped hands press her throat,
Her pulses answer the bugle note;
Her heart will beat for many a day
To the step of the feet that went away.
Gray sky above, gray sea below,
And gaunt gray winds that wailing go
Like shuddering spectres, whispering
An incommunicable thing.
Within the mighty, mournful hall
No red-sleeved ladies laugh and call;
The unwatched embers drop to gray,
And the hounds slink shivering away.
The painted Rood in the recess
Stands, a still sign of blessedness,
And at its base, low murmuring,
The lady droops with hands that cling.