RHYME OF JOYOUS GUARD 



Will it Spoil with the damps of the deadly 

 mould ? 



Was it shorn when the church vows 

 bound her ? 



Now I know full well that the fair spear shaft 

 Shall never gladden my hand, nor the haft 



Of the good sword grow to my fingers ; 

 Now the maddest fray, the merriest din 

 Would fail to quicken this life stream thin, 

 Yet the sleepy poison of that sweet sin 



In the sluggish current still lingers. 



Would God I had slept with the slain men, 



long 

 Or ever the heart conceiv'd a wrono- 



That the innermost soul abhorred — 

 Or ever these lying lips were strained 

 To her lids, pearl tinted and purple vein'd, 

 Or ever those traitorous kisses stained 



The snows of her spotless forehead. 



Let me gather a little strength to think, 



As one who reels on the outermost brink. 



To the innermost gulf descending. 

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