Although he wandered rather more than ever Since he had come again to Brittany From Camelot, Merlin found eternally Before him a new loneliness that made Of garden, park, and woodland, all alike, A desolation and a changelessness Defying reason, without Vivian Beside him, like a child with a black head, Or moving on before him, or somewhere So near him that, although he saw it not With eyes, he felt the picture of her beauty And shivered at the nearness of her being. Without her now there was no past or future, And a vague, soul-consuming premonition He found the only tenant of the present; He wondered, when she was away from him, If his avenging injured intellect Might shine with Arthur's kingdom a twin mirror, Fate's plaything, for new ages without eyes To see therein themselves and their declension. Love made his hours a martyrdom without her; The world was like an empty house without her, Where Merlin was a prisoner of love Confined within himself by too much freedom, Repeating an unending exploration Of many solitary silent rooms, And only in a way remembering now That once their very solitude and silence Had by the magic of expectancy Made sure what now he doubted--though his doubts, Day after day, were founded on a shadow.
For now to Merlin, in his paradise, Had come an unseen angel with a sword Unseen, the touch of which was a long fear For longer sorrow that had never come, Yet might if he compelled it. He discovered, One golden day in autumn as he wandered, That he had made the radiance of two years A misty twilight when he might as well Have had no mist between him and the sun, The sun being Vivian. On his coming then To find her all in green against a wall Of green and yellow leaves, and crumbling bread For birds around the fountain while she sang And the birds ate the bread, he told himself That everything today was as it was At first, and for a minute he believed it. "I'd have you always all in green out here," He said, "if I had much to say about it."-- She clapped her crumbs away and laughed at him: "I've covered up my bones with every color That I can carry on them without screaming, And you have liked them all--or made me think so."-- "I must have liked them if you thought I did," He answered, sighing; "but the sight of you Today as on the day I saw you first, All green, all wonderful" ... He tore a leaf To pieces with a melancholy care That made her smile.--"Why pause at 'wonderful'? You've hardly been yourself since you came back From Camelot, where that unpleasant King Said things that you have never said to me."-- He looked upon her with a worn reproach: "The King said nothing that I keep from you."-- "What is it then?" she asked, imploringly; "You man of moods and miracles, what is it?"-- He shook his head and tore another leaf: "There is no need of asking what it is; Whatever you or I may choose to name it, The name of it is Fate, who played with me And gave me eyes to read of the unwritten More lines than I have read. I see no more Today than yesterday, but I remember. My ways are not the ways of other men; My memories go forward. It was you Who said that we were not in tune with Time; It was not I who said it."--"But you knew it; What matter then who said it?"--"It was you Who said that Merlin was your punishment For being in tune with him and not with Time-- With Time or with the world; and it was you Who said you were alone, even here with Merlin; It was not I who said it. It is I Who tell you now my inmost thoughts." He laughed As if at hidden pain around his heart, But there was not much laughing in his eyes. They walked, and for a season they were silent: "I shall know what you mean by that," she said, "When you have told me. Here's an oak you like, And here's a place that fits me wondrous well To sit in. You sit there. I've seen you there Before; and I have spoiled your noble thoughts By walking all my fingers up and down Your countenance, as if they were the feet Of a small animal with no great claws. Tell me a story now about the world, And the men in it, what they do in it, And why it is they do it all so badly."-- "I've told you every story that I know, Almost," he said.--"O, don't begin like that."-- "Well, once upon a time there was a King."-- "That has a more commendable address; Go on, and tell me all about the King; I'll bet the King had warts or carbuncles, Or something wrong in his divine insides, To make him wish that Adam had died young."