In The Forest #Poetry

In The Forest

One well might deem, among these miles of woods,

Such were the Forests of the Holy Grail,

Broceliand and Dean; where, clothed in mail,

The Knights of Arthur rode, and all the broods

Of legend laired. And, where no sound intrudes

Upon the ear, except the glimmering wail

Of some far bird; or, in some flowery swale,

A brook that murmurs to the solitudes,

Might think he hears the laugh of Vivien

Blent with the moan of Merlin, muttering bound

By his own magic to one stony spot;

And in the cloud, that looms above the glen,

In which the sun burns like the Table Round,

Might dream he sees the towers of Camelot. 

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