Or in the breaking of the restless seas:
Or dreamed rich, hallowed dreams of aureate days
While yet the King was young, and sunlight fell
On bower and roof of ancient Camelot:
Of triumph clarion, and thanksgiving bell,
When all was song, and laughter, and high praise,
Even when as yet the accursed thing was not.
Then would loom out from the chill mists of time
The faces and the forms remembered still,
The King and Guinevere, and Galahad,