Why wait for Arthur? He too long has slept. <br />He shall not hear you--no, nor heed your moan, <br />More than the wail of those fair Queens that kept <br />Their watch for him what months in Avalon! <br />He shall not wake for any mother's son <br />Nor mother's daughter of them all in tears, <br />His knights, his ladies. How then for this one, <br />You the last blossom of our world's lost years? <br />--Ah, let him sleep. For see how in the wood, <br />Under the dead oak, green new saplings spring, <br />How the thorn blossoms, while birds cry aloud <br />In scorn of grief. And, Lady, by the rood! <br />There rides a knight, new--armed and questing proud, <br />Who shouts, ``The king is dead. Long live the King!''<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/le-roi-est-mort-vive-le-roi-2/
