Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall....
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, First made and latest left of all the knights, Told, when the man was no more than a voice In the white winter of his age, to those...
I. When from the terrors of Nature a people have fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil, Blest he the Voice of the Teacher who calls to them 'Set yourselves free!'
I know her by her angry air, Her bright black eyes, her bright black hair, Her rapid laughters wild and shrill, As laughters of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill....
Below the thunders of the upper deep, Far far beneath in the abysmal sea, His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee About his shadowy sides: above him swell...