That rode upon a peerless quest and dire,
Kay, swift and hasty as a flame of fire,
And gentle Percival, whom to give made glad;
Merlin, contriver of the riddling rime,
And Gawain, silent harbinger of ill.
So as the day draws ever toward the dark,
Ever toward peace the great wind’s sounding breath,
And ever toward the further shore the bark
They drew to the dark, silent realm of death.
Far, far away from their old palace-halls