now that the leaves are green;
    We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 65
    How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
    We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
    That skies are clear and grass is growing: 
    The breeze comes whispering in our ear
    That dandelions are blossoming near, 70
      That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
    That the river is bluer than the sky,
    That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
    And if the breeze kept the good news back,
    For other couriers we should not lack; 75
      We could guess it all by yon heifer’s lowing,—­
    And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
    Warmed with the new wine of the year,
      Tells all in his lusty crowing!

    Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 80
    Everything is happy now,
      Everything is upward striving;
    ’T is as easy now for the heart to be true
    As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—­
      ’T is the natural way of living:  85
    Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 
      In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;
    And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
      The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
    The soul partakes the season’s youth, 90
      And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
    Lie deep ’neath a silence pure and smooth,
      Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
    What wonder if Sir Launfal now
    Remembered the keeping of his vow? 95

PART FIRST

I

    “My golden spurs now bring to me. 
      And bring to me my richest mail,
    For to-morrow I go over land and sea
      In search of the Holy Grail: 
    Shall never a bed for me be spread, 100
    Nor shall a pillow be under my head,
    Till I begin my vow to keep;
    Here on the rushes will I sleep. 
    And perchance there may come a vision true
    Ere day create the world anew,” 105
      Slowly Sir Launfal’s eyes grew dim,
      Slumber fell like a cloud on him,
    And into his soul the vision flew.

II

    The crows flapped over by twos and threes,
    In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 110
      The little birds sang as if it were
      The one day of summer in all the year,
    And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees: 
    The castle alone in the landscape lay
    Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray; 115
    ’T was the proudest hall in the North Countree,