Guendolen.
215
The hills crowd close, and the vale between
Narrows to a deep ravine.
Here the sombre woods divide;
Clutching the rocks with roots outspread,
Trees that lean from either side
Make midnight overhead;
And only small bright blossoms grow
On the lawny turf that lies below.
Narrows to a deep ravine.
Here the sombre woods divide;
Clutching the rocks with roots outspread,
Trees that lean from either side
Make midnight overhead;
And only small bright blossoms grow
On the lawny turf that lies below.
But Guendolen, grown sudden pale,
Sinks fainting nigh the shadowy pass,
Seeing through a leafy veil
One pillowed on the grass.
With still arms tossed apart he lies,
Dark twilight waxing in his eyes.
Under the shade of a leaning crag
Hung with a scarlet parasite,
Two hounds that guard a wounded stag
Crouch at its left and right;
Old Victor, chiefest of the pack,
Gladdest at the bugle note,
Keenest on the mazy track———
Ripped lengthwise from the throat,
Sinks fainting nigh the shadowy pass,
Seeing through a leafy veil
One pillowed on the grass.
With still arms tossed apart he lies,
Dark twilight waxing in his eyes.
Under the shade of a leaning crag
Hung with a scarlet parasite,
Two hounds that guard a wounded stag
Crouch at its left and right;
Old Victor, chiefest of the pack,
Gladdest at the bugle note,
Keenest on the mazy track———
Ripped lengthwise from the throat,
