Yseult
Brush the mold from Yseult's hair and face:
And you will find that swarthy furious gold
Still smoldering under the blanket of black mold;
And you will find those eyelids frail as lace;
Eyes like blue stones washed in a windy place;
That mouth whose glowing motion once controlled
Cornwall and Lyonnesse; that throat as cold
As a long curve in water, white as a vase
Of moon-swept ivory: you will discover
That body whose keen pallor was a sword
Unsheathed only for one lord and lover,
Flashing only for one lover and lord:
Your eyes will blur to find with sharp surprise
Tears burning on her eyelids and her eyes!
And you will find that swarthy furious gold
Still smoldering under the blanket of black mold;
And you will find those eyelids frail as lace;
Eyes like blue stones washed in a windy place;
That mouth whose glowing motion once controlled
Cornwall and Lyonnesse; that throat as cold
As a long curve in water, white as a vase
Of moon-swept ivory: you will discover
That body whose keen pallor was a sword
Unsheathed only for one lord and lover,
Flashing only for one lover and lord:
Your eyes will blur to find with sharp surprise
Tears burning on her eyelids and her eyes!
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