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William Morris - The Chapel In Lyonesse
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SIR OZANA.

All day long and every day,
From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,
Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,
  And no man came a-near.

Naked to the waist was I,
And deep within my breast did lie,
Though no man any blood could spy,
  The truncheon of a spear.

No meat did ever pass my lips
Those days.  Alas! the sunlight slips
From off the gilded parclose, dips,
  And night comes on apace.

My arms lay back behind my head;
Over my raised-up knees was spread
A samite cloth of white and red;
  A rose lay on my face.

Many a time I tried to shout;
But as in dream of battle-rout,
My frozen speech would not well out;
  I could not even weep.

With inward sigh I see the sun
Fade off the pillars one by one,
My heart faints when the day is done,
  Because I cannot sleep.

Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;
Not like a tomb is this my bed,
Yet oft I think that I am dead;
  That round my tomb is writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,
  Knight of the Table Round,
Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;
  A true knight he was found."

Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.

[He sleeps.]


SIR GALAHAD.

All day long and every day,
Till his madness pass`d away,
I watch`d Ozana as he lay
  Within the gilded screen.

All my singing moved him not;
As I sung my heart grew hot,
With the thought of Launcelot
  Far away, I ween.

So I went a little space
From out the chapel, bathed my face
In the stream that runs apace
  By the churchyard wall.

There I pluck`d a faint wild rose,
Hard by where the linden grows,
Sighing over silver rows
  Of the lilies tall.

I laid the flower across his mouth;
The sparkling drops seem`d good for drouth;
He smiled, turn`d round towards the south,
  Held up a golden tress.

The light smote on it from the west;
He drew the covering from his breast,
Against his heart that hair he prest;
  Death him soon will bless.


SIR BORS.

I enter`d by the western door;
  I saw a knight`s helm lying there:
I raised my eyes from off the floor,
  And caught the gleaming of his hair.

I stept full softly up to him;
  I laid my chin upon his head;
I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,
  I was so glad he was not dead.

I heard Ozana murmur low,
  "There comes no sleep nor any love."
But Galahad stoop`d and kiss`d his brow:
  He shiver`d; I saw his pale lips move.


SIR OZANA.

There comes no sleep nor any love;
  Ah me!  I shiver with delight.
I am so weak I cannot move;
  God move me to thee, dear, to-night!
Christ help!  I have but little wit:
My life went wrong; I see it writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,
  Knight of the Table Round,
Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;
  A good knight he was found."

Now I begin to fathom it.

[He dies.]


SIR BORS.

Galahad sits dreamily;
What strange things may his eyes see,
Great blue eyes fix`d full on me?
On his soul, Lord, have mercy.


SIR GALAHAD.

Ozana, shall I pray for thee?
  Her cheek is laid to thine;
No long time hence, also I see
  Thy wasted fingers twine

Within the tresses of her hair
  That shineth gloriously,
Thinly outspread in the clear air
  Against the jasper sea.
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