Spell-Bound

How weary is it none can tell,

How dismally the days go by!

I hear the tinkling of the bell,

I see the cross against the sky.

The year wears round to Autumn-tide,

Yet comes no reaper to the corn;

The golden land is like a bride

When first she knows herself forlorn;

She sits and weeps with all her hair

Laid downward over tender hands;

For stainèd silk she hath no care,

No care for broken ivory wands;

The silver cups beside her stand;

The golden stars on the blue roof

Yet glitter, though against her hand

His cold sword presses for a proof

He is not dead, but gone away.

How many hours did she wait

For me, I wonder? Till the day

Had faded wholly, and the gate

Clanged to behind returning knights?

I wonder did she raise her head

And go away, fleeing the lights;

And lay the samite on her bed,

The wedding samite strewn with pearls:

Then sit with hands laid on her knees,

Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls

That chatter outside in the breeze?

I wonder did her poor heart throb

At distant tramp of coming knight?

How often did the choking sob

Raise up her head and lips? The light,

Did it come on her unawares,

And drag her sternly down before

People who loved her not? in prayers

Did she say one name and no more?

And once, all songs they ever sung,

All tales they ever told to me,

This only burden through them rung:

O golden love that waitest me!

The days pass on, pass on apace,

Sometimes I have a little rest

In fairest dreams, when on............