At Camelot

Her maiden eyes were redolent of love,

Warm-bosomed as she breathed the passionate air

Of old romance, and did in fancy move

'Mong the gay knights who died for ladies fair;

Until she heard the thunder of the press,

And so became a lover; her heart rang

The note of love's alarm, his tenderness,

When in the onset all the tourney sang.

And she was one of the dead ladies who,

In beauty's blazon, to his rushy bower

With Launcelot, when the Queen was gone, withdrew

Under the shadow of the tourney tower;

And, lilting to him through the gloaming, made

His heart a lyre whereon her passion played.