The Little Tower

Up and away through the drifting rain!

Let us ride to the Little Tower again,

Up and away from the council board!

Do on the hauberk, gird on the sword.

The king is blind with gnashing his teeth,

Change gilded scabbard to leather sheath:

Though our arms are wet with the slanting rain,

This is joy to ride to my love again:

I laugh in his face when he bids me yield;

Who knows one field from the other field,

For the grey rain driveth all astray?

Which way through the floods, good carle, I pray

The left side yet! the left side yet!

Till your hand strikes on the bridge parapet.

Yea so: the causeway holdeth good

Under the water? Hard as wood,

Right away to the uplands; speed, good knight!

Seven hours yet before the light.

Shake the wet off on the upland road;

My tabard has grown a heavy load.

What matter? up and down hill after hill;

Dead grey night for five hours still.

The hill-road droppeth lower again,

Lower, down to the poplar plain.

No furlong farther for us to-night,

The Little Tower draweth in sight;

They are ringing the bells, and the torches glare,

Therefore the roofs of wet slate stare.

There she stands, ............