LITMIR.BIZ

      Ere the sun had cast his light

        On the water's face,

      Firm in saddle rode the knight

        From the holy place,

      Merry songs began to sing,

        Let his matins bide;

      Rode a good hour pondering,

        And was turned aside,

      Saying, "I will henceforth then

        Yield this hopeless quest;

      Tis a dream of holy men

        This ideal Best!"

      "Every good for miracle

        Heart devout may hold;

      Grail indeed was that fair well

        Full of water cold!

      "Not my thirst alone it stilled

        But my soul it stayed;

      And my heart, with gladness filled,

        Wept and laughed and prayed!

      "Spectral church with cryptic niche

        I will seek no more;

      That the holiest Grail is, which

        Helps the need most sore!"

      And he spake with speech more true

        Than his thought indeed,

      For not yet the good knight knew

        His own sorest need.

      On he rode, to succour bound,

        But his faith grew dim;

      Wells for thirst he many found,

        Water none for him.

      Never more from drinking deep

        Rose he up and laughed;

      Never more did prayerful sleep

        Follow on the draught.

      Good the water which they bore,

        Plenteously it flowed,

      Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more

        Eased his bosom's load!

      For the Best no more he sighed;

        Rode as in a trance;

      Life grew poor, undignified,