Her maiden dreams were redolent of love, <br />Warm-bosomed as she breathed the passionate air <br />Of old romance, and did in fancy move <br />'Mong the gay knights who died for ladies fair; <br />Until she heard the thunder of the press, <br />And so became a lover; her heart rang <br />The note of love's alarm, his tenderness, <br />When in the onset all the tourney sang. <br />And she was one of the dead ladies who, <br />In beauty's blazon, to his misty bower <br />With Launcelot, when the Queen was gone, withdrew <br />Under the shadow of the tourney tower; <br />And, lilting to him through the gloaming, made <br />His heart a lyre whereon her passion played.<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-camelot/
