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There he could rest, and for a time forget.
So, for a time, he lost the name of life,
And of all else except Isolt. . . . “Isolt!”
That was the only name left in the world,
And that was only a name. “Isolt! Isolt!”

After an endless day of sleep and waking,
With Gouvernail adventuring in and out
Like some industrious and unquiet phantom,
He woke again with low light coming in
Through a red window. Now the room was dim,
But with a dimness that would let him see
That he was not alone. “Isolt!” he said,
And waited, knowing that it was not Isolt.

A crooning voice that had within its guile
A laughing ring of metal said, “Isolt?
Isolt is married. Are you young men never
To know that when a princess weds a king
The young man, if he be a wise young man,
Will never afford himself another fever,
And lie for days on a poor zany’s rags,
For all the princesses in Christendom?
Gouvernail found you, I found Gouvernail,

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