Chapter I: How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail

Through the wood the sunny day
Glimmered sweetly glad;
Through the wood his weary way
Rode sir Galahad.

All about stood open porch,
Long-drawn cloister dim;
'Twas a wavering wandering church
Every side of him.

On through columns arching high,
Foliage-vaulted, he
Rode in thirst that made him sigh,
Longing miserably.

Came the moon, and through the trees
Glimmered faintly sad;
Withered, worn, and ill at ease
Down lay Galahad;

Closed his eyes and took no heed
What might come or pass;
Heard his hunger-busy steed
Cropping dewy grass.

Cool and juicy was the blade,
Good to him as wine:
For his labour he was paid,
Galahad must pine!

Late had he at Arthur's board,
Arthur strong and wise,
Pledged the cup with friendly lord,
Looked in ladies' eyes;

Now, alas! he wandered wide,
Resting never more,
Over lake and mountain-side,
Over sea and shore!

Swift in vision rose and fled
All he might have had;
Weary tossed his restless head,
And his heart grew sad.

With the lowliest in the land
He a maiden fair
Might have led with virgin hand
From the altar-stair:

Youth away with strength would glide,
Age bring frost and woe;
Through the world so dreary wide
Mateless he must go!

Lost was life and all its good,
Gone without avail!
All his labour never would
Find the Holy Grail!