“Sounds of the night, and tears between,
The grey owl hooting, dimly heard:
Can footsteps reach these lands unseen,
Or wings of bird?
“Days of the years, and worlds between—
Oh, through those boughs the stars may burn;
The heart may break for lands unseen,
For woods wherein its life has been,
But not return!”
The King sat listening, his head leaning upon his hand, and when he looked up, the Enchantress’s eyes were fixed on him with the cruel look he could not fathom. He sprang up and begged leave to retire; he was weary, he said, for he had ridden a long distance. At the door of the hall he asked her to tell her servants to return his sword. “We have never been parted yet,” said he.