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Through the leaves, the soft light sings
Among the trees where each sound rings.
The huge stallion seems to almost fear the silence,
Even when watching around him the sunbeams dance.
The knight is only looking at the path before him,
Letting his faithful mount follow freely its whim
Even not noticing the soft noise under the hoofs,
For the wildness tried to hide the existing proofs.
In the shadow of his helmet tight are his lips
Not bothering when from the trees fall the drips.
His plain armour shines silver under the light
And the beams glitter as a crown of gold bright.
Despite the faraway look, his attention is awake
As shown by the firm grip on the reins, as a brake.
No doubt that these eyes gazing into space
Have seen the fresh track and the hidden trace
Of a mystery, half veiled in the breeze,
The surrounding mystery for which life has to freeze,
Twisting around, whispering with each breath,
Hissing with anger, smelling of moss and death.
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Sir Galahad
Copyright © George Frederick Watts.
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Antony (Temporary title)
