The Usk slipped onward under wharf and wall
Of old Caerleon, rolling down, it seemed,—
Incarnadined with splendor of the west,—
The heathen blood of all of Arthur's wars.
So she had left him; and he stood alone
Within the carven casement, where a ray
Of sunset laid a bleeding spear athwart
The dark oak hall, and, on the arras gaunt
A crimson blade of battle red that dripped.—
And now life's bitterness took Peredur