Its moat and roadway: at the very gate
Weeds higher than a man; their ancient stalks
Devoured with the dust and spider-webs,
Or smothered with the slime where croaked the toad.
And Peredur against the portal rode,
And with his spear-point beat upon its bolts
A sounding minute. But no wolf-hound bayed;
Only dull echoes of interior walls
And hollow rock that arched the empty halls.
And once again his truncheon shook the gate