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;
  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;
’Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—­
  ’Tis the natural way of living: 
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?

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.’ 
  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: 
’Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree,
And never its gates might opened be,
Save to lord or lady of high degree;
Summer besieged it on every side,
But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 120
She could not scale the chilly wall,
Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall
Stretched left and right,
Over the hills and out of sight;
  Green and broad was every tent,
  And out of each a murmur went
Till the breeze fell off at night.

III