And Arthur woke, and called,
"Who spake? A dream! O light upon the wind,
Thine, Gawain, was the voice—are these poor 'cries'
Thine? Or doth that same army, growing wild,
Mourn, wishing it had gone along with Me?"
This heard the bold Sir Bedivere, and spake:
"O me, my Chief! to pass whatever Bill,
Upstairs, seems hopeless. Tory glamour clings
To all high places like a darkening cloud
For ever. Is it your intent to 'pass'