Chapter V

And ye, are ye not with me now alway?-- Thy raiment, Glauce, shall be my attire! East of the Sun I, too, seek my desire! My kisses, also, quicken the well-wrought clay! And thou, Alcestis, lest my little day Be done, art glad to die! Upon my pyre, O Brynhild, let thine ashes feed the fire! And, O thou Wood Sun, pray for me, I pray! Yea, ye are mine! Yet there remaineth one Who maketh Summer-time of all the year, Whose glory darkeneth the very sun. For thee my sword was sharpened and my spear, For thee my least poor deed was dreamed and done, O Love, O Queen, O Golden Guenevere!