Five maidens, like five forest flowers, came;
Dark-eyed, dark-haired. Behold, the queen of these
Was Angharad. Clad in a ragged robe
Of faded satin that had once been rich.
She looked at Peredur, and he at her:
And with glad eyes once more his soul beheld
The hair far blacker than the bird that wings
Athwart the milk-white moon: the matchless skin,
Inviolably white as wind-flowers blown
Among the mighty gospels of the trees: