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Thus blithely sped the golden-footed hours
Athwart the sloping sunlight of the space
Twixt noon and dusk, in various delight
Of song and converse, till the purple webs
Of night began to flutter o'er the gold
Of sunset, and the air of that bright place
Was strewn with pearls of moonlight. Then men brought
Great golden-fleecéd webs of silk-soft wool
And furs of white and sable-coated beasts
And laid them on the floor and thereon strewed
Fair green of moss and rainbow plumages
Of exquisite strange birds, whereon the folk,
Won with light labour to fatigue as light
And easeful, soon addressed themselves to rest.

But those fair youths, to whom we were in charge,
Unbidden, brought us to a place apart,
Wherein fair chambers, golden-ceiled and hung
With gray and purple arras, lay beside
An aisle of columned marble, stretching down,
With casements clear and quaintly-carven roofs,
Through many a tender vista of soft shade
And trellised leafage: there did we bestow
Our weary limbs and heard the nightingale,
All night among the windless myrtle-groves
Without, entreating all the tremulous air
To passion with the splendour of her song,
Woven with flower-scents inextricably.
The night was fair for us with happy dreams,
And in the morning, ere the sun had drawn
The early mists from off the blushing day,
There came to us the king of that fair land
And did entreat us rise and harness us;
For that the place we sought was from the town
Distant a long day's journey, and the time
Was gracious, in the freshness of the dawn,
To break the earlier hardness of the way.
Then did we all take horse and riding forth
By the fair guiding silver of the brook,
That ran toward the northward of the town,
We passed through many a leafy forest glade
And saw the fresh flowers wet with the night dew
And listened to the newly-wakened birds,
That sang their clearest for the fair young day.
Right goodly was the aspect of the earth,
Clad with glad blooms and flushed with joy of Spring,
As on we wended in the early morn,
Before the grossness of the noon fell down:
And as we went, a goodly company,
The minstrels lifted up their voice and sang,
As birds that could not choose but music make,
For very joyance of the pleasant time.
And one right well I marked, who made the birds
From every sunny knoll and budded copse
Give back blithe antiphons of melody
To every phrase and cadence of his song.
Comely and young he was and passing skilled
In making lays and rondels for the lute:—
And this, among a crowd of sweeter songs,
If memory serve me rightly, did he sing.