“So Tristram looked on Iseult face to faceand knew not, and she knew not. The last time --The last that should be told in any rhymeHeard anywhere on mouths of singing menThat ever should sing praise of them again;The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest,The last that peace should touch them, breast to breast,The last that sorrow far from them should sit,This last was with them, and they knew not it.”

“And Iseult rose up where she sat apart,And with her sweet soul deepening her deep eyesCast the furs from her and subtle embroideriesThat wrapped her from the storming rain and spray,And shining like all April in one day,Hair, face, and throat dashed with the straying showers,She stood the first of all the whole world's flowers,And laughed on Tristram with her eyes, and said,"I too have heart then, I was not afraid."And answering some light courteous word of graceHe saw her clear face lighten on his faceUnwittingly, with unenamoured eyesFor the last time.”

“And thither, ere sweet night had slain sweet day,Iseult and Tristram took their wandering way,And rested, and refreshed their hearts with cheerIn hunters' fashion of the woods; and hereMore sweet it seemed, while this might be, to dwellAnd take of all world's weariness farewellThan reign of all world's lordship queen and king.Nor here would time for three moon's changes bringSorrow nor thought of sorrow; but sweet earthFostered them like her babes of eldest birth,Reared warm in pathless woods and cherished well.And the sun sprang above the sea and fell,And the stars rose and sank upon the sea;And outlaw-like, in forest wise and free,The rising and the setting of their lightsFound those twain dwelling all those days and nights.And under change of sun and star and moonFlourished and fell the chaplets woven of June,And fair through fervours of the deepening skyPanted and passed the hours that lit July,And each day blessed them out of heaven above,And each night crowned them with the crown of love.Nor till the might of August overheadWeighed on the world was yet one roseleaf shedOf all their joy's warm coronal, nor aughtTouched them in passing ever with a thoughtThat ever this might end on any dayOr any night not love them where they lay;But like a babbling tale of barren breathSeemed all report and rumour held of death,And a false bruit the legend tear impearledThat such a thing as change was in the world.”

“O brother, the gods were good to you.Sleep, and be glad while the worldendures.Be well content as the years wearthrough;Give thanks for life, and the loves andlures;Give thanks for life, O brother, anddeath,For the sweet last sound of her feet, herbreath,For gifts she gave you, gracious andfew,Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.”

“To fill the days up of his dateless yearFlame from Queen Helen to Queen Guenevere?For first of all the sphery signs wherebyLove severs light from darkness, and most high,In the white front of January there glowsThe rose-red sign of Helen like a rose:And gold-eyed as the shore-flower shelterlessWhereon the sharp-breathed sea blows bitterness,A storm-star that the seafarers of loveStrain their wind-wearied eyes for glimpses of,Shoots keen through February's grey frost and dampThe lamplike star of Hero for a lamp;The star that Marlowe sang into our skiesWith mouth of gold, and morning in his eyes;And in clear March across the rough blue seaThe signal sapphire of AlcyoneMakes bright the blown bross of the wind-foot year;And shining like a sunbeam-smitten tearFull ere it fall, the fair next sign in sightBurns opal-wise with April-coloured lightWhen air is quick with song and rain and flame,My birth-month star that in love's heaven hath nameIseult, a light of blossom and beam and shower,My singing sign that makes the song-tree flower;Next like a pale and burning pearl beyondThe rose-white sphere of flower-named RosamondSigns the sweet head of Maytime; and for JuneFlares like an angered and storm-reddening moonHer signal sphere, whose Carthaginian pyreShadowed her traitor's flying sail with fire;Next, glittering as the wine-bright jacinth-stone,A star south-risen that first to music shone,The keen girl-star of golden Juliet bearsLight northward to the month whose forehead wearsHer name for flower upon it, and his treesMix their deep English song with Veronese;And like an awful sovereign chrysoliteBurning, the supreme fire that blinds the night,The hot gold head of Venus kissed by Mars,A sun-flower among small sphered flowers of stars,The light of Cleopatra fills and burnsThe hollow of heaven whence ardent August yearns;And fixed and shining as the sister-shedSweet tears for Phaethon disorbed and dead,The pale bright autumn's amber-coloured sphere,That through September sees the saddening yearAs love sees change through sorrow, hath to nameFrancesca's; and the star that watches flameThe embers of the harvest overgoneIs Thisbe's, slain of love in Babylon,Set in the golden girdle of sweet signsA blood-bright ruby; last save one light shinesAn eastern wonder of sphery chrysopras,The star that made men mad, Angelica's; And latest named and lordliest, with a soundOf swords and harps in heaven that ring it round,Last love-light and last love-song of the year's,Gleams like a glorious emerald Guenevere's.”

“She might come in to bride-bed: and he laughed,As one that wist not well of wise love's craft,And bade all bridal things be as she would.Yet of his gentleness he gat not good;For clothed and covered with the nuptial darkSoft like a bride came Brangwain to King Mark,And to the queen came Tristram; and the night Fled, and ere danger of detective lightFrom the king sleeping Brangwain slid away,And where had lain her handmaid Iseult lay.And the king waking saw beside his headThat face yet passion-coloured, amorous redFrom lips not his, and all that strange hair shedAcross the tissued pillows, fold on fold,Innumerable, incomparable, all gold,To fire men's eyes with wonder, and with loveMen's hearts; so shone its flowering crown aboveThe brows enwound with that imperial wreath,And framed with fragrant radiance round the face beneath.And the king marvelled, seeing with sudden startHer very glory, and said out of his heart;"What have I done of good for God to blessThat all this he should give me, tress on tress,All this great wealth and wondrous? Was it thisThat in mine arms I had all night to kiss,And mix with me this beauty? this that seemsMore fair than heaven doth in some tired saint's dreams,Being part of that same heaven? yea, more, for he,Though loved of God so, yet but seems to see,But to me sinful such great grace is givenThat in mine hands I hold this part of heaven,Not to mine eyes lent merely. Doth God makeSuch things so godlike for man's mortal sake?Have I not sinned, that in this fleshly lifeHave made of her a mere man's very wife?”

“Love, is it morning risen or night deceasedThat makes the mirth of this triumphant east?Is it bliss given or bitterness put byThat makes most glad men's hearts at love's high feast?Grief smiles, joy weeps, that day should live and die."Is it with soul's thirst or with body's drouthThat summer yearns out sunward to the south,With all the flowers that when thy birth drew nighWere molten in one rose to make thy mouth?O love, what care though day should live and die?"Is the sun glad of all love on earth,The spirit and sense and work of things and worth?Is the moon sad because the month must flyAnd bring her death that can but bring back birth?For all these things as day must live and die."Love, is it day that makes thee thy delightOr thou that seest day made out of thy light?Love, as the sun and sea are thou and I,Sea without sun dark, sun without sea bright;The sun is one though day should live and die."O which is elder, night or light, who knows?And life or love, which first of these twain grows?For life is born of love to wail and cry,And love is born of life to heal his woes,And light of night, that day should live and die."O sun of heaven above the wordly sea,O very love, what light is this of thee!My sea of soul is deep as thou art high,But all thy light is shed through all of me,As love's through love, while day shall live and die.”