Wolves over a spilled bone ... and yet this name,
This “Iseult” is a good thing for the sword,
And makes it cut through many helms and makes
Death very visible to heathen men ...
... And I could sit with her on a green cliff
And watch the world die—if she were but tired
And soon would rest her head against my heart;
Not caring for the roughness of my mail
Not aught at all save that I held her close
And she and her child’s love at last had peace....