Pale as the moon is pale on winter nights,
With deep eyes dreaming like September haze,
Or lit with lust of battle, eyes that few
Had looked on and forgot; in such wise came
Lancelot, the hero of immortal fights,
Lancelot, the golden knight of golden days.
“Whence cam’st thou, Lancelot?” “Even from the
Queen,
The Queen that was, whom now a convent’s shade
Imprisons, and a dark and tristful veil