Iseult of Ireland
"Iseult" and "Iseult,"
"Iseult" all day,
Yammer and cry the gulls that fly
Tintagel way.
Tristram and Iseult —
Ivy and rose,
Twist there and make for old sake's sake
The knot Love knows.
Ivy o'er Iseult
Clambers and clings:
The wind that blows Tristram's rose
Folds there his wings.
Larks over Iseult
Sweet service say,
And lovers' feet are fain to meet
Tintagel way.
High over Iseult's,
Though his grave be,
There lies a doom on Arthur's tomb
That none may see.
"Tristram and Iseult"
Love sets to rhyme:
Shall they not rise pure in Love's eyes
In his good time?