The Sangreal

    Once, when beside me in that sacred place
        I saw my lady lift her lovely head,
    And saw the Chalice gleam above her face
        And her dear lips with life immortal red,
    Then, born again beyond the mist of years,
        I knelt in Heaven, and drank the wine of tears.

Henry John Newbolt

Sir Henry John Newbolt was an English poet and author, famous for his ballads such as 'Vitaï Lampada'. He graduated from Oxford and was called to the bar, but he is better remembered for his literary contributions than his legal career. Newbolt served as a government advisor on military and naval literature during World War I. He was knighted in 1915 for his services to literature. Newbolt's work often reflected themes of patriotism and duty.

Henry John Newbolt

Ad Matrem Dolorosam

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

The Viking's Song

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

In July

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

The Mossrose

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

English

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Sir Hugh the Palmer

    I

    He kneeled among a waste of sands
        Before the Mother-Maid,
    But on the far green forest-lands
        His steadfast eyes were stayed,
    And like a knight of stone his hands
        He straightened while he prayed.

    "Lady, beyond all women fair,
        Beyond all saints benign,
    Whose living heart through life I bear
        In mystery divine,
    Hear thou and grant me this my prayer,
        Or grant no prayer of mine.

    "The fever of my spirit's pain
        Heal thou with heavenly scorn;
    The dust that but of dust is fain
        Leave thou in dust forlorn;
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    "So by thy grace my inward eyes
        Thy beauty still ...

Henry John Newbolt

From Novalis

Uplifted is the stone
    And all mankind arisen!
We are thy very own,
    We are no more in prison!
What bitterest grief can stay
    Beside thy golden cup,
When earth and life give way
    And with our Lord we sup!

To the marriage Death doth call,
    The lamps are burning clear,
The virgins, ready all,
    Have for their oil no fear.
Would that even now were ringing
    The distance with thy throng!
And that the stars were singing
    To us a human song!

Courage! for life is hasting
    To endless life away;
The inward fire, unwasting,
    Transfigures our dull clay!
See the stars melting, sinking
    In life-wine golden-bright!
We, of the splendour drinking,
    Shall grow to stars of light.

Lost, l...

George MacDonald

Atonement.

You were a red rose then, I know,
    Red as her wine--yea, redder still,--
Say rather her blood; and ages ago
    (You know how destiny hath its will)
I placed you deep in her gorgeous hair,
And left you to wither there.

Wine and blood and a red, red rose,--
    Feast and song and a long, long sleep;--
And which of us dreamed at the drama's close
    That the unforgetful years would keep
Our sin and their vengeance laid away
As a gift to this bitter day?

Now you are white as the mountain snow,
    White as the hand that I fold you in,
And none but the angels of God may know
    That either has once been stained with sin;
It was blood and wine in the old, old years,
But now it is only tears.

And so at the end of our several ways

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Sir Galahad

My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,
The horse and rider reel:
They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
And when the tide of combat stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
That lightly rain from ladies' hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend
On whom their favours fall !
For them I battle till the end,
To save from shame and thrall:
But all my heart is drawn above,
My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:
I never felt the kiss of love,
Nor maiden's hand in mine.
More bounteous aspects on me beam,
Me mightier...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Song Of The Two Cupbearers.

FIRST CUPBEARER.

Drink of this cup--Osiris sips
    The same in his halls below;
And the same he gives, to cool the lips
    Of the dead, who downward go.

Drink of this cup--the water within
    Is fresh from Lethe's stream;
'Twill make the past, with all its sin,
    And all its pain and sorrows, seem
    Like a long forgotten dream;
The pleasure, whose charms
    Are steeped in woe;
The knowledge, that harms
    The soul to know;

The hope, that bright
    As the lake of the waste,
Allures the sight
    And mocks the taste;

The love, that binds
    Its innocent wreath,
Where the serpent winds
    In venom beneath!--

All that of evil or false, by thee
    Hath ever been known or seen,
Shalt ...

Thomas Moore

Lines Upon Seeing ---- At One Of The Annual Banquets Given In Guildhall.

Gorgeous and splendid was the sight;
From myriad lamps a fairy light
Enshrin'd in wreaths the Gothic wall,
And heav'nly music fill'd the hall!

But there was one - (alas! that I
Had ever seen) - the melody
Her voice surpassed, and brighter far
Her eyes than ev'ry mimic star!

I gaz'd, until, oh! thought divine!
I fancied she I saw was mine;
But soon the beauteous vision flew -
The stranger-form I lov'd withdrew.

Yet still she lives within my breast,
There mem'ry has her form imprest: -
Thus, when some minstrel's strain is done,
Sounds seem to breathe, for ever gone!

John Carr