Madison Cawein - After the Tournament lyrics

I And shall it be, when white thorns flake With blossoms all the Maytime brake, The rustle of a flower or leaf Will let thee know That I am near thee, as thy grief, As long ago? II Or shall it be, when blows and dies The wood-anemone, two eyes Will gaze in thine, as faint as frost? And thou, in dreams, Wilt hear the sigh of one long lost, Who near thee seems. III Or shall it be, where waters soothe The stillness, thou wilt hear the smooth Dim notes of a familiar lute, And in thine ears Old Provence melodies, long mute, Like falling tears? . . IV Now doff my helm. – Loop thy white arm Beneath my hair. So. Let thy warm Blue eyes gaze in mine for a space, A little while . . . Love, it will rest me . . . And thy face – Ah, let it smile. V Now art thou thou. Yet – let thy hair, A golden wonder, fall; thy fair Full throat bend low; thy kiss be hot With love, not dry With anguish. – Sweet, my Evalott! Now let me die.