I.
So, my son, you came this morning at the blinking of the day,
“King, and heir for Uther,” riding swiftly shoreward on the spray
That, within my face, comes blowing from a stranger sea and sky,—
Felt, not seen—upon whose margin here, a sightless Merlin, I
Stand, and turn my head and harken to the whisper of the wind
Borne from seaward on to leeward,—dark before and dark behind.