SONNET.
There is a castle of most royal state,
Wherein no warder watches from the walls,
Nor groom nor squire abides in court or halls:
Silent are they, grass-grown and desolate.
A thousand steeds a thousand knights await,
Sleeping, all harnessed, in the marble halls
Until the Appointed One upon them calls,
Winding the horn that hangs beside the gate.
Then shall the doors fly open, and the steeds
Neigh, and the knights leap, shouting, to the selle,
And they shall follow him and do such deeds
All men must own him master. But the spell
Who knows not and, uncalled, essays the horn,
Falls at the fated doors and dies forlorn.