Robbins Library Digital Projects > Camelot Project > The Inn of Strange Meetings and Other Poems > Merlin

Merlin


                      I

Merlin, the great magician,
  Quelled by a woman's hand,
Lies under the mighty oak-trees
  In the forest of Broceliande.

                      II

The fever of life comes never
  To fret his poet-brain:
He has slept a thousand years, and shall sleep
  A thousand years again.

                      III

Dew falls soft on the turf there,
  Young birds twitter above:
Merlin sleeps, and surely sleep
  Is better than aught save love.
  
                      IV

Merlin sleeps, while the winters
  Freeze, and the summers bloom,
And the old oaks whisper softly . . .
  He is here till the Day of Doom.

                      V

O happy happy Merlin,
  Afar in the forest deep!
To thee alone of the sons of men
  Gave a woman the gift of sleep.